Eat Your Heart Out
by Mimi Kaminoro
Summary: "Aika, if I were to name one emotion that floods me whenever my eyes catch yours, that emotion would not be love. It would be regret; that and everlasting guilt." Kuroro X OC
1. Chapter 1: Inaugural Game

**Book 1: Simplicitatem**

**Chapter 1: Inaugural Game**

* * *

"_To be perfect is to be unable to improve any further, and as a scientist, I find that to be a truly detestable thing."  
-Kurotsuchi Mayuri (Bleach)_

* * *

Small and fifteen years of age, a slender figure curled herself into a corner set far back in an alley. Dusk was beginning to fall, but she made no move to stir. Only the sand around her did such a thing, carrying with it the wind and debris that consisted of plastic bags and pungent odors, things of that sort.

Eagerly, she tore into the loaf of bread she had manage to scrounge from the old man who ran a store stand. As she chewed the hard outer part of the bread, she flipped open the book she had been learning how to read. It was a rather large book, one with the back cover torn off and pages yellowed from age and use. There were about four-hundred pages to the novel. It was a painstaking process, but she enjoyed it nonetheless. There was something fascinating about the letters artistically sprawled on the paper that spelled out for her a life entirely different from her own.

She swallowed the dry wheat, craving water or something to drink, but stifled the urge, instead settling for attempting to decipher the next paragraph.

She had long since figured out that books were the best things next to food and shoes. Food was always great of course; she could not remember the last time she had not felt hungry. And shoes wore out quickly with the amount of running she was required to do, and without them, she could easily step on something she wasn't supposed to, given that she lived in Meteor City; thus the dilemma. But books, now, books were entertainment, a makeshift pillow, and a compacted alternate universe, all simultaneously. Nodding once and biting into the loaf again, she decided that shoes were probably priority; then came books, and then food.

"Aika." A scolding and achingly familiar voice came.

The girl jumped, almost choking, dropping her book out of surprise. The front of it closed on her, and she frowned as she lost the page. Reluctantly replying to her name, she crossed her arms and puffed.

"What do you want old man?" She blew her bangs from in front of her eyes; she spoke with a full mouth.

"Ah, that's no good." Another figure rounded the corner of the alley and began making its way toward her. "You need to show some respect for your elders."

"I thought I specifically told you not to," she paused to swallow, "call me that name."

"It means love song." He protested.

"It means funeral song." She said abruptly. "We went over this old man." She tossed the rest of her bread nonchalantly away from her. "My parents never cared about me."

"So much pessimism in one little body." He sighed.

The sun had finally met with the rim of the earth, beginning to dip under the surface. Shadows had begun to grow longer and become more menacing.

"I'm a relatively optimistic pessimist then." Aika leapt to her feet and began to stretch. "Are you here for the chess match?"

"Of course I am. That was the deal right?"

The streetlight over their heads flickered to life as Aika sighed. Immediately, bugs began to buzz and swarm toward the source. It was a meager source of illumination in the threatening abode of Meteor City, but it did them well and allowed the two to enjoy their little game.

The man, finally stepping under the brightness of the lamp, revealed his features. He was a kindhearted old man, the type you knew always had a smile on his face. Unfortunately, it was the kind ones the world had a tendency to be cruel to, and their little city enjoyed being satirical in its own sense. He walked with his eyes closed. The left side of his face was disfigured, and the skin rough and discolored.

"How are sales going?" Aika asked as she usually did, pulling a splintering chess board out from behind a tin trash can. This alley was her territory, and all the other children knew it. Anything she kept in the particular strip went untouched; still, she had the irresistible urge to hide anything she considered precious. Subconscious and instinctive, it had become second nature to her- fighting for everything she ever needed, that was.

"Oh, they're great." He groaned as he lowered himself to the ground to sit on it. "We sold all of our fruit today."

"That's good to hear."

With a thump, she laid the board out and went to find the bowl they kept their chess pieces in.

A loaf of bread for a game of chess. That was the deal. The girl sometimes had trouble getting by, sometimes going the entire day without a bite to eat. Though she tried to pretend otherwise, on days like those, it seemed that the man just knew and brought her the bread he had not sold.

He was a lonely person. His significant other had died several years back in the very accident that had mauled his face and taken half his vision, his left eye.

"Aika, when are you going to beat me in a game of chess?" He lamented playfully. "Winning all the time is rather boring."

"Perfection is what's boring." She shrugged, and sat down on the opposite side of the board, placing the chess pieces in their appropriate places. "You can still do plenty of interesting things as you win."

"Am I the black or white pieces today?" He asked.

"You tell me."

"I'll be using algebraic notation today."

"Alright."

The old man made the first move.

"Pawn to C3."

Aika moved her right hand to shift the white pawn to the corresponding square.

The first time, she had been mortified, as if she thought she was simply playing chess with herself. Soon she found out it was far from it. The old man was clever and very wily. It provided her almost as much entertainment as her novels.

"I'm moving my pawn to D4." She narrated. As an afterthought, she added: "I meant D4 from my perspective."

"You're making things difficult aren't you?" He chuckled.

"That's my job."

Soon after they were well into the throes of the match, Aika spoke.

"Oyaji, you're only blind in one eye, right?"

"Queen to B6." He crossed his arms. "Hmm, yes, that's right. Why?"

"My knight takes your queen." The girl said triumphantly. And then: "Why don't you open your other one? Keeping it closed is… it's kind of a waste, isn't it?"

"Rook takes Knight." He answered, and sighed as Aika cursed loudly. "First thing first: do not be eager to exploit people, whether they are an enemy or friend." He opened his right eye to look at her. "And don't ever trust anything that seems too good to be true. Sometimes sacrifices aren't as righteous as they seem." He shut it again.

After a pause he began speaking again. "I like being blind. Meteor City can be a wonderful place. Lush grass as far as the imagination can reach. No one is ugly and everyone is beautiful. I can hear better than I normally would if I were to rely on my sight. I can appreciate more."

"Bishop takes rook. Check." Aika smirked.

Again, the old man sighed. "Ignorant as ever I see. Pawn to E7. Checkmate."

A dead silence ensued. And then a low groan. He heard a thump as she fell backwards to lie on the floor of the alley. "Do you make it a point to delude yourself, old man?" She asked.

"If you call optimism delusion," he hauled himself up to his feet. "Yes, I do. That and I make it a point to lecture you." He chuckled to himself.

"Oyaji, when are you going to tell me your name?"

He only laughed again as he began to make his way out of the alley. "The day you accept yours." He answered simply.

The old man rounded the corner and disappeared from sight. Aika tried to close her eyes and enhance her hearing as the man seemed to be able to do, but to no avail.

Above her, the lamplight went out with a spark.

* * *

"_I'm not little. I just live in a big world."  
-Edward Elric (Fullmetal Alchemist)_

* * *

The sun had graced Meteor City with its presence as Aika walked, more like scampered, down along its streets. Garbage littered the roads everywhere. The citizens had become so used to the constant presence of waste that no one bothered to even kick it to the side anymore.

The main trash heap that their city was known for existed smack in the middle of it. It was an interesting place, and surprisingly very quiet. Rampant in disease and rodents, the inhabitants made a point to avoid it. Aika enjoyed the solemnity that could be found there. Since it was such a large place, people crowded the perimeter of the town, so the streets were always crowded, bustling, and overheated.

Upon reaching the foot of the mountain, she leapt upward toward the apex of the trash heap nimbly, jumping from place to place to find decent footing to ascend. Once she finally did, she plopped down and sat on the remains of a television with a shattered screen. The wind howled around her, and Aika inhaled deeply.

The air was rank and terrible, but it was so mournful. The girl looked at her hands. Sores and abrasions covered them. The small, open wounds stung horribly, but she made it a point not to show anyone. Perhaps that was the reason she would only hang out with the old man; he didn't question her appearance, or wounds, or reasons.

Small movements happened sporadically all around her; the teenager didn't need to look to understand that the rats were uneasy with her presence.

One darted from under the cover of a trashed bulletin board. With startling speed, Aika grabbed the rodent by its neck and pressed with her thumb and index finger on either side of its head so it could not nip her.

She examined it closely and after a moment's thought, she muttered, "No good," and let it loose. Gratefully, the rat sped away, back toward the bulletin board it had been finding shelter beneath. The sores would have to heal on their own or wait until she could find something uncontaminated.

Voices that made no extra effort to conceal their presence suddenly poked in through her consciousness as she registered them.

"… The head is just another leg for the sake of…" A surprisingly soothing voice made its presence known.

Aika slowly got down off of the broken television and gingerly stepped onto the trash heap, her curiosity getting the better of her. Nobody in the city enjoyed the dumping grounds; at best, it was a fact of life they were forced to accept.

As far as she could tell, the person who owned the voice was not that far away. It sounded close, closer than she would have liked, to be honest. As she rounded the mountain, taking caution to stay quiet, Aika caught a glimpse of the back of a figure. It was clad in black, with onyx hair to boot. In front of him were five other silhouettes.

She stilled herself, quieting and slowing her breathing. People had a tendency to be hostile here, and congregations were rare, much less existent. Who were these people who-

"And what do we have here?"

Aika suddenly felt a malicious presence not three inches away from her neck as the hairs there and on her arms rose. This was not the voice she had originally heard. From the inner circle she had been staring at not half a second ago, a figure was now missing.

This voice was pitched slightly higher, and reminded her of the sound of a snake shedding its skin.

Acting on adrenaline and instinct, Aika lashed out and roundhouse kicked –or tried to roundhouse kick- the shadow behind her. She didn't even know what a roundhouse kick was.

But fear had made her lose her control and she wound up using much more force than necessary. Her kick ate only air and she had difficulty regaining her balance.

"What's going on Feitan?" The voice from before called, sounding more annoyed than concerned.

"We have another rat rummaging around."

Aika hopped backward a few feet, gaining a certain safe distance. This man's speed was incredible; when was the last time she had been caught so utterly off guard?

This Feitan was clothed similarly to the form she had been previously been staring at, though his hair was shorter, and parted differently, and he had narrower eyes. His lips were curled into a cruel smirk, and his irises showed nothing but animalistic… emptiness. He looked like a psychotic teenager with perfect of self-control.

"Why?" Was all Aika could muster.

"I believe the question is, why did you attack me?" He answered promptly.

Was that even a question? Who wouldn't have panicked after experiencing that suffocating amount of killing intent?

"Leave her alone, Feitan. There's no reason to go after every single one." The only female in the group spoke up.

"Macchi, are you ordering me around?"

"I'm stating facts. And pointing out the fact that you rudely interrupted Leader."

So that's what they were; angst-ridden children who never had model figures in their lives, trying to make themselves a world of their own.

"I'm just having some fun."

Aika heard no more as he charged toward her.

This man was not a human.

He moved so quickly he left after-images in his terrifying wake; his eyes were so cold they could have frozen over the sun itself.

The girl heard before she felt something break in her body. Suddenly, her right arm was twisted at a strange angle, and Feitan was now behind her, instead of facing her.

The pain was incredible, rippling through her entire frame, and she fought to keep her knees from shaking, her eyes from filling. An unbecoming sound escaped her lips.

"Some fun." Another sitting figure snorted.

Aika didn't understand what was going on. This was not a typical human reaction to watching someone have their elbow shattered. The five people couldn't have been much older than her, judging from appearances, perhaps three or four years at most.

"Shut the hell up, Nobunaga."

Aika shuddered, and decided to leave her arm be. Trying to set it back at this point would be both dangerous and a waste of time. She wasn't sure how this all happened so quickly.

He charged again, this time grinning instead of smirking.

Thank god she was left handed.

She could see that Feitan had dangerously elongated and sharp nails. Bringing his fingers close together, he could make a makeshift dagger.

Scratch that; he could make something more dangerous than a dagger.

Acting quickly, Aika sidestepped the jab and grabbed his forearm. It was only for a second, but she could see the shock that registered in her opponent's gaze. His speed had been seen through?

The teenager inhaled deeply again, and tightened her grip.

Puzzled and startled, the dark-haired male yanked his arm free and jumped backwards once. Cautiously, he examined his arm, opening and closing his fist. His nails were no longer sharp.

"What did you do to me?" He hissed, eyes narrowing further.

Aika shrugged, eyes fleeting to her own arm. Her elbow was beginning to bruise and discolor a result of his harsh treatment toward it. It looked nasty, and painful.

Feitan reared to rush toward her once more, but he was interrupted.

"Feitan," the suave voice stopped him in his tracks. "That's enough. Leave her alone."

Aika's attacker paused for a fleeting moment, and then straightened himself up, dusting his clothes off. After shooting her an intense glare, he abruptly turned around and returned to the rest of the group.

The girl only stood there for a few moments, unsure of what to do. Was she free to go now?

"Girl, what's your name?" The voice came obviously from the figure who they called their leader. He turned around to face her, and suddenly, she could not move. Soulless pits, like the steep drop to the ocean floor, his gaze was immobilizing. Ochre irises did not relax their grip on her.

Before anyone could stay another word, Aika had fled, turned around and sped down the side of the dumping grounds, left hand clutching at her elbow, heart hammering against her ribcage as if it wanted to burst free of its own confines.

Didn't look back.

END CHAPTER 1

* * *

"_Good is predicated on corruption and evil."  
-Tsunenaga Tamaki (Deadman Wonderland)_

* * *

**A/N: Hey, Mimi here! Wow, I haven't written in such a long time. **

**Just so you guys know, this portion of the fic will be set in Meteor City, the Geneiryodan's hometown. The gathering that Aika saw was the beginning of the formation of the Troupe. **

**And also, I haven't read the manga for Hunter X Hunter, so this fic will be set solely on the anime. **

**I hope you guys like how this is turning out. I have this terrible habit of abandoning my stories sometimes but its summertime now, and I basically have this one all figured out! Thanks for giving this fic a chance, yay! Read and Review, please! **


	2. Chapter 2: Omerta

**Book 1: Simplicitatem**

**Chapter 2: Omerta**

* * *

"_Three can keep a secret if two of them are dead."  
-Benjamin Franklin_

* * *

"What's got you all riled up Feitan?"

The aspiring swordsman sat atop a splintering crate resting on the dusty ground. The sky was orange, and streaked as he cast a sidelong glance to the man of Chinese descent sitting a few feet away from him.

"Can't have been that kid, eh?" Nobunaga laughed raucously, hands hidden in opposing sleeves.

"Shut the hell up, Nobunaga."

Feitan tsked, annoyed, and tried to shake his arm out. It was numb, weak, and he had an irresistible desire to slam it against a hard surface, preferably Nobunaga's face, both to cease the taunting and to regain some degree of feeling in it.

"Want me to take a look at it?" Machi offered voice as icy as ever.

"Don't touch me, woman."

She shrugged. "Your loss."

"Anyways," Kuroro cleared his throat, hands still in the pockets of his suit. "Shall we get back on track?"

Met with silence, he took it as affirmation. After a brief pause he began speaking again, though there was not much left to say.

"Above all, make the right call." The Leader stated simply. "My orders may be top priority, but I am not your top priority. Our goal is not to keep an individual alive, but the spider."

"Was that all you called us here to explain?" Machi questioned.

Had it been anyone else, Kuroro might have shot them a look. Her loyalty, however, was one he did not ever question. Judging from the look on the female's face, she had meant no disrespect.

"No, actually." He shifted his stance, and pulled his hands out of his pockets. "We have a new mission."

Nobunaga groaned as Pakunoda made herself comfortable.

"What's it this time?"

"The assassination of a certain group of men." Kuroro answered honestly. "The Mafia is an underground criminal organization had prides itself on its unity and furtive nature. There are a good fifteen people who have worked with a certain man and broken the Mafia's Code of Silence."

"What's the good in killing some people if they've already spilled the beans?" Uvo piped up, expression serious.

Kuroro suppressed the urge to smirk. An overly muscular middle aged man possessing no qualms with snapping necks and crushing skulls asking, what's the good? There was no good.

"In case you haven't noticed," Franklin directed his gaze toward the afro'd man, "we are a mercenary group that does the bidding of the Mafia. They don't need a reason; and neither do we."

"Ahhh," the samurai sighed, long and loudly. "what's with all the hum drum about this Code of Silence?"

"The Mafia holds its codes and moral system in high regard." Kuroro commented.

"Big words for a slightly immoral group of people." He snorted.

"Like we're any better." Pakunoda said sharply.

That seemed to do the trick, and the group settled down.

"Anyways, when Omerta and the Code of Silence are broken, the transgression is punishable by death. Since thirteen of the fifteen men are hiding away here in Meteor City, the dirty work has been passed down onto us."

"Are we getting paid?" The pink-haired woman inquired.

"Generously." The Leader answered. He pulled out thirteen photographs, all taken from suspicious, slanted angles. "These are out targets. Take your pick. We have a three week deadline."

"Each of us gets two, then?"

"I'll be taking the one left over," the ochre-eyed Dancho remarked, "since there are six of you."

Each Spider swiped two photos and began to study their targets.

"Oi, Nobu, that one looks stronger, let's switch."

"No way in hell."

"Eh? Come on!"

"Go away Uvo."

Kuroro curiously examined his own photograph. It was a rather elderly man. The left side of his face seemed to droop, and it was a different shade from the rest of him. Both of his eyes were closed –though it was more accurate to say that the left was stuck that way- and a tender smile painted his demeanor.

Deftly, the Leader folded the thick paper.

"We meet back here in three weeks time." He said quietly.

A swift nod from the each of his subordinates was all he needed to say the word.

"Disperse."

Forms blurring, the seven figures swiftly abandoned the junkyard.

* * *

"_I can only step on an ant so hard without crushing it."  
-Aizen Sosuke (Bleach)_

* * *

Aika glared at the rodent nibbling away at the fruit she'd brought back with her.

She sighed. For god's sake, all the waste dumped here must have had some radioactive affect on the wildlife –like there was any _wildlife_ to actually speak of in Meteor City; that or it had elements that could turn them rabid. The rats had no innate fear of humans anymore and she vaguely wondered how long it would take before it began to turn the citizens rabid as well.

Her uninjured arm shot out and grabbed it by its head, and she analyzed it slowly. Was it _actually_ rapid?

Its eyes seemed to be a normal color… And its teeth looked normal for a rat's... No foaming at the mouth either.

Carefully, Aika focused on it, and surely enough, she felt a strange occurrence begin to happen. The rat began to hiss and flail, gnashing its teeth and flapping its tail against her.

After several seconds had elapsed, the rodent went completely limp and Aika set it down on the ground gently as she took the left hand that had originally grabbed the rat and placed it over her right elbow; her _shattered_ elbow, for the love of god.

Immediately, a soothing sensation enveloped it, and the throbbing slowly subsided.

She kept it there for a few seconds more until the cooling feeling ebbed away.

"That's a clever way to get rid of the rat problem."

She jumped. And then sighed, exasperated.

"Old man, why do you keep on seeing the need to scare me out of my skin whenever you drop by?"

He chuckled, his laugh deep, soft, endless, like a lake constantly flowing into the ocean. "I'm not sure; it just seems to always turn out that way."

Confused, Aika turned toward the sun, only to find it almost finished with its daily trek across the expanse of the rolling sky; it was already time for the chess match. She wondered if including wasting time as one of her talents was a valid and acceptable thing to do.

"I guess I'll be the white pieces tonight?" She volunteered.

Originally, the black pieces monopolized the first move in chess. Both the young girl and the elderly man knew this. And for some reason, they decided to make it exactly opposite.

They had discussed it only once before.

"There's a certain degree of liberation in rebellion."The old man had sighed, crossing his legs. "I think it's simply human nature to go against the flow of things…" He quieted. "To want what we can't have… To want everything, all at the same time."

"You really do sound old when you say that." Aika had laughed, moving her rook. "Rook to C6. Check."

"Knight takes rook. Check." He had responded cheekily.

"I'll be the black then." He offered, snapping her out of her reverie.

Deftly setting up the chess board, Aika moved her first pawn.

The game dragged on for longer than usual that particular day. Aika found herself sitting on her legs, eagerly making predictions in her mind, thinking ahead. The old man took longer than usual to respond, hand rubbing his chin thoughtfully. Every once in awhile, he would touch his shoulder, exhaling heavily.

"What's wrong?" She finally questioned.

"The air seems bitter tonight, doesn't it Aika." He commented.

She pointed her nose up and inhaled deeply, waiting several seconds before responding. "Just smells like trash, as always. To me anyways."

He only laughed in response. He was always laughing.

"I can feel the rats running around. They're dangerous tonight."

"Are you finally losing your mind old man?"

"Perhaps." He stood up. His expression had turned grave, his perpetual smile dissipating.

Shocked, Aika stood up too. "Where are you going? We haven't finished our match yet." _Why are you concerned? What are you hiding from me? _

"I seem to be very tired tonight…" _Something's going to happen. I need to leave._ He said this as his eyebrows knitted themselves together. "Leave the chessboard like that. We can finish tomorrow."

The girl had opened her mouth to argue when she was interrupted.

"You should listen to your elders, little girl."

Aika whipped around, heart leaping to her throat.

Standing some eight feet away from her in the innermost corner of the alleyway was the ochre-eyed man she had seen several hours before.

Immediately, she leapt backwards, fueled more by overwhelming fear than anything else.

Who were these people? Why were they so incredibly quick on their feet? Why did they have such a domineering presence?

"You have good instinct." His comment was directed toward the older man. He straightened up, previously having been leaning against the wall of the alley. "You are undoubtedly the person in this picture." A piece of paper fluttered to the ground as he dropped it.

"Has the Mafia sent you after me?" The old man chuckled. "You must be part of the Phantom Troupe that everyone has been chit-chatting about. You seem very young to be part of a cold-blooded mercenary group."

"The stipends are worth the bloodshed." The younger said frankly. "And to be honest, your head is worth quite a lot, Mister…" He took another look at the picture, reading the tiny text scrawled onto it. "Mike Alabaster," he finished.

"Mike?" Aika made a valiant attempt to relax her muscles and rid herself of tension. "Is that your name?" She asked the old man.

"My name is nothing of importance." He answered bemusedly. "Nothing you should remember anyways."

"Are you going to tell the girl to leave?" The youth asked, slowly walking toward them. "You seemed to be in enough of a hurry to try to lead me away."

"I don't think she'd listen to me if I did."

Kuroro found it slightly unnerving to speak to a man who closed both of his eyes. He was used to staring his victims down when he killed them; the Leader had never given it a second thought. But finding that he could not read the senior's emotions, or predict what his next move might have been was unsettling.

It was easier on his conscience if his victims hated him; an eye for an eye made the entire process much simpler. He only sighed, mentally shrugging. It couldn't be helped; it wasn't as if he had a substantial amount of conscience anyways.

Kuroro directed his gaze toward the girl. The sight was one to behold; she looked like a cat that had been spooked, and if she had fur, it probably would have been spiked up.

"Aren't you the one that Feitan went after earlier today? Aika, was it?"

"Are you going to kill him? Are you going to kill Mike?" She asked bluntly, tersely. The name tasted strange, foreign, unfamiliar on her tongue.

"Yes." Kuroro tilted his head slightly to the side. "I suggest you move out of the way. There's no need for me to have to involve you."

"Why?" She persisted.

"Why indeed?" He put his hands into his pockets and looked up into the deep sky, he stars blotted out by the excess of fumes in Meteor City. "You should ask the Mafia, if you're seeking an answer to that."

"Aika, you should do as he says and leave quickly." Mike opened his right eye.

There was some unspoken threat hanging over Aika. The young man before her had strange eyes. They were wide, and gleamed with near stoicism, reflecting vitality and corruption simultaneously. More than anything, they were eyes that absorbed endlessly, windows to an exceedingly intelligent –and lethally dangerous- mind. The teen somehow knew that this man was more frightening than the one who had injured her previously.

"I thought he had broken your arm." Kuroro said curiously.

"He did." Aika responded cynically. "Shattered is a better word to use."

"Aika!" Mike exclaimed, interrupted. "You must leave!"

"I refuse!" She said in an equally obstinate tone of voice.

"Isn't that too bad…" Kuroro sighed as his outline blurred as he moved toward the elderly man.

Her blood ran cold as she heard a slightly thump, a dusty gasp; Mike's frame hit the dusty ground right in front of her line of vision.

It took her a full ten seconds to understand that Kuroro had attacked the old man and had finished the job in the amount of time it would have taken her to blink. Surely, this wasn't all there was to it? This was so… anticlimactic, so quiet, quick, soundless… Didn't these usually involve a lot of screaming and bloodshed?

"You should be thankful to him." The Leader said calmly, placing his hands back in his pockets. His back was now toward Aika and the fallen figure of Mike. "He was standing at an angle purposely to shield you."

"WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!" Aika shouted, suddenly enraged. "What did he ever do to you?! He was almost sixty years old with one foot already in the goddamn grave, why would you do that?!"

"Was he… important to you?"

Aika had to dig her nails into the palms of her hand to stop herself from lunging. "He gave me bread and played chess with me." She made a visible effort to moderate her breathing. "He was also the only one who could ever see me as anything other than a monster." She finished quietly.

"Pitiful thing." He voiced. "You'll soon learn that you are one. Everyone is."

She opened her mouth to shout back, but the male cut her off. "But you're not? But he isn't?" He guessed. "What if I told you he was? What if I told you he and his wife were part of the Mafia, and he killed her for having broken the Code of Silence? What if I told you he broke that very same code three months later?"

Aika froze in her tracks. He killed his wife? Mike did what?

"That's not true." She had to swallow before she could speak again. "There was an accident. His wife died in an accident. That's how-"

"Little girl, why are you standing here talking to me?" Kuroro sighed. "Go to sleep. It's well past your bedtime."

She drew in a breath to retort something back –retort _what _back, there was nothing to _say_… but before she could say the first word, he was gone.

And so was the body beside her.

"_It was so gentle, so gentle that is was almost cruel."  
-Aisume _

She stayed up to watch the sun rise. Drying blood was beginning to turn brown on the dust ground next to her. Strangely enough, the chess board had not been touched.

She looked at her hands. Surely, this was not a normal reaction to watching someone get murdered right before your eyes. Shouldn't she have been traumatized like _everyone else_?

A pang hit her square in her chest when she realized that she didn't even get to see _how _Mike died. A knife wound? That was the most probable. Maybe the man had broken Mike's neck.

Mike, Mike, Mike.

Aika cringed, disliking how the name sounded, echoed, wouldn't let her go.

The Code of Silence? What on earth was that?

And his wife? Of course Mike hadn't killed his own goddamn wife, who would _ever _do that, who would ever be so inhuman to kill anyone who…

Aika suddenly lashed out at the chess board, hating how it sat there soundlessly, an aching reminder of last night.

A monster. A monster, monster, a monster. That's what she was. Again, she looked at her hands. She could not touch anything without feeling like a danger, could not flip the pages in her book before double checking that she wasn't focusing too much, could not hold the bread steady without having to forcibly calm the shaking in her fingertips. Hers were hands that stole, stole goods, stole food, stole life, stole everything and more and manipulated things for her own good.

Aika clawed herself to her feet and dragged her body over to the corner of the alley where the sun would not reach for several more minutes as it began its ascent.

Her foot suddenly brushed up against something, the photograph from last night.

Aika picked it up slowly, taking care with her hands. The man in the photograph was, without dispute, the Oyaji she played chess with every night once the sun began to set, the old man who threw bread at her every damn day.

Crumpling it into herself, Aika balled up in the long shadows provided by the walls of the alleyway and waited for sleep to take her.

* * *

"_I cannot live, I cannot die, trapped in myself."  
-One by Metallica_

* * *

**A/N: AHAHAHAHA sorry my writing gets really bad after midnight, and guess what time it just so happens to be? Anyways, I'm trying to update more often and stay more motivated, to stay tuned!**

**ALSO. I JUST REALIZED THAT OCHRE MEANS A YELLOWISH GOLD COLOR. I AM VERY SORRY. KURORO'S EYES ARE OCHRE. I thought they meant like pitch black. But I'm too lazy to go back and search for my mistakes, I'm sorry. So pretend like I said black in those moments. **

**PLEASE reand and review, your guys' feedback always always always makes my day! Thank you for taking the time to do so! ^.^**


	3. Chapter 3: Persona

**Book 1: Simplicitatem**

**Chapter 3: Persona**

* * *

"_It's not justice if you don't go overboard."  
-Unzen Myouri (Medaka Box)_

* * *

Quietly, purposefully, a silhouette crouched low under the cover of the long fearsome shadows that stretched from the junkyard city's dilapidated buildings. The shadow shook with anger and found that it had to sheathe its knife in order to keep from swinging it around wildly.

It had been three days since Mike, his caporegime, had been killed. Mike had told him that it was coming. The Mafia had had other, more pressing matters to deal with at the moments, but soon, they would be hot on their heel again. Rats and snitches were dealt with accordingly in their institution, and were punished with nothing less than death.

Mike's death had been a sign, a sign that a string of murders would soon be taking place.

It was not as if there were no factions within the Mafia; they just happened to be one of the more moralistic ones. Unfortunately, the Mafia had morals that differed from theirs, and so, they were labeled to be killed.

Slowly, the silhouette breathed, silently calming himself. _Soon_, he thought to himself. This was _his_ city when night fell, and the newly formed Phantom Troupe, composed of justice-seeking, idealistic twenty-two year olds would have nothing on him.

He breathed again.

_Soon._

* * *

"_Revenge is cold, sweet, and somehow, it is not fattening."  
-Alfred Hitchcock_

* * *

Kuroro Lucifer was flying.

The sentence was debatable, but that was the closest he could come to describing the sensation. From buildingtop to buildingtop he leapt, wind slashing his own hair against his face.

"It's worth noting that the targets are proficient in zetsu." The pink-haired female next to him commented, her tone as cold as ever.

"Zetsu is often learned unconsciously," Kuroro said, "so it's usually an inaccurate representation of an opponent's skill." Then he paused for a moment, coming to stop on top of a dilapidated rooftop, blinking twice and questioning his sanity. "Do you think it's important?" He asked, casting a sidelong glance her way. If Macchi has broken her usual silence to mention something, _of course_ it was important.

Macchi came to a halt beside him, stopping swiftly. She only shrugged. "It's just a hunch."

A hunch. Riiight.

"No," he responded, "I trust your instincts."

Kuroro sighed and made a mental note to brace himself for a surprise attack, possibly an ambush sometime in the near future. Machi's quote-unquote hunches, were very rarely proved incorrect, and he had the feeling he would regret it if he failed to heed it now.

"Boss?" She questioned, eyes showing well-concealed curiosity. "Is something the matter?"

He stifled a chuckle and started moving again. She followed closely behind.

"Nothing's wrong, Macchi." He smirked gently.

"If you say so." The female answered.

"Let's hear that report." He said, shifting into his dancho persona.

"They're not all that much trouble. The Mafia's made up of pampered corrupts that are all bark and no bite, if they can't even take care of these scoundrels." Her eyes narrowed.

"That's good to hear." He almost laughed at the sight of her animosity. "So he's been taken care of?"

She nodded in affirmation. "I'll get rid of the other one tomorrow. He's good at hiding." She mentioned more quietly. "I can smell his apprehension."

"Mine seemed content to sit there." Kuroro slowed his pace. "I thought it would be more entertaining since he was caporegime."

"Pampered." Macchi repeated. "Appearances are deceiving."

"Does anyone else have anything to report?"

"I'm not their messenger."

Kuroro nodded. "Go get some sleep. Sunrise is in three hours."

Without another word Macchi sped ahead, leaving him behind.

The leader stopped again, this time coming to a halt on the sandy ground of the city. It was nighttime once again, and the streetlights were flickering.

Meteor City was such an utterly boring town, listlessly repeating the same routine day by day. The same streetlights never worked, the same bars were always full, and so the others always empty. Shouts filled the streets as drunken men gambled their lives away-

Silently, Kuroro slowly and deliberately inhaled, closing his eyes, hands in his pockets. _Smell the apprehension, huh? _

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "Did I keep you waiting?"

The emotion Macchi had been detecting had not been apprehension.

"It wasn't a problem at all." The answer came.

It had been anxiety; anxiousness and irrepressible bloodlust.

A young man stepped out of an alleyway. His face was angular and his eyes were wide with malice.

"You're the one that slaughtered Mike?"

Now that he was speaking more clearly, Kuroro could detect a well hidden Italian accent. Japanese was apparently not an easy language to pick up for the Europeans. Macchi's well-concealed target.

"Such an aesthetically displeasing word," he frowned, "slaughtered. We were only doing our job."

"_You _were," Macchi's target corrected, eyes narrowing, "not we."

The phrase carried with it an interesting sense of finality, and Kuroro realized that those were the last words he would say before their battle ensued.

When he saw the man go in for a lunge, Kuroro reared back and delivered a kick that left the Italian skidding backwards a good fifteen feet.

After a few moments he straightened up, and Kuroro repressed the twitching at the corners of his lips. He kick had been meant to cripple, and the Leader had to admit, he was impressed. Or perhaps he had been expecting less, judging from Mike's lack of retaliation.

The Italian soon brandished a dagger. His grip was interesting to say the least, with the blade pointing upwards in favor of the more versatile horizontal slant. Kuroro exhaled exasperatedly; that usually meant that the blade was poisoned.

_He was one of those. _

Inexperienced, naive, and completely at the mercy of his emotions.

Again, they leaped toward each other after a brief moment of respite. Kuroro didn't like carrying weapons around with him. He always had one or two, but they had never been his specialty –did he even _have_ a specialty?- and so his dodging skills had been forced to advance quite thoroughly.

After a brief jabbing session, the Italian seemed to become even more vengeful than before, and his strokes and swings began to lose their finesse. They became wider, stronger, and lost control.

Forcing himself to concentrate, the Leader ducked swiftly beneath the assault and slammed his hand into the Italian's sternum. Momentarily having shocked him, Kuroro grabbed the back of his head and slammed it mercilessly against the dusty ground.

When blood began to pool around his feet, Kuroro clapped his hands together, cleaning the grime off of them. He slowly began to realize a stinging sensation gathering in his left forearm.

Frowning, he examined it and saw a deep gash running along it.

Well when the hell had that happened?

Kuroro Lucifer resisted the urge to slam his own head against the nearest streetlight. Enjoying his battles was something he needed to stop doing. It made him reckless and the adrenaline output made his oblivious to pain.

Kuroro tried to clench his left hand, and hissed when he realized that he was having trouble doing so.

It was poison judging from the sensation, and Kuroro made a mental note not to move it anymore and keep calm to prevent its spreading.

He could always cut it off and ask Macchi to reattach it, but the female was not above asking for millions of zenny, so it was cost-defective, and besides, when would he next see her? They had just parted ways.

He did his best to squeeze the bad blood out of the wound, but it was beginning to coagulate, and try as he might, Kuroro couldn't think of a better solution. Kuroro nearly rolled his eyes as he focused his nen into his good arm, preparing to sever the left just below the elbow, and sighing deeply, he-

"Don't do that."

He paused, blinking. He hadn't sensed anyone approach him.

From the alleyway behind the one the now-incapacitated Italian had come from emerged the little girl Feitan had messed around with. Who was this brat, and why was she popping up everywhere?

"You shouldn't do that."

He relaxed his posture. "Enlighten me."

Without a word she began to scuttle over toward him.

Kuroro resisted the urge to jerk his arm back when she put her small hands on it. He watched her cautiously, eyes narrowing slightly as they took in her appearance.

She was short, and in surprisingly good shape for a street orphan. Her hair, originally brunette, had been lightened slightly by the scorching sun, and it was long, but slightly unruly. She wouldn't turn her eyes toward him.

"What are you doing?"

"I don't know," came the response.

An interesting sensation ensued. The pressure building up in his forearm was suddenly released, and Kuroro found that he could move it again, albeit weakly. He turned his gaze toward the girl once again as she removed her hands.

Well, removed was not the right word. Her arms had slid off of his.

"Did you just absorb it?" He asked, brows coming together in confusion. Upon examining her hands, Kuroro found that her fingers were slightly discolored.

The girl shrugged. "Who knows?"

"Why?" He asked, for once, at a loss for words. "Don't you hate me?"

"Hate?" She repeated. "That's a pretty strong word." She sighed, and after a brief silence, she said, "No, I've decided that I don't. You said so yourself; you were just doing your job, right?"

"Is this the same thing you did to Feitan?" Kuroro lifted his arm slightly.

She frowned. "I think."

He waited for her to go on.

"All I'm really good for is sort of taking energy from people. And things." Still, she wouldn't make eye contact with him.

_And obviously, if she can take life energy, she'll get everything that's mixed in with it too._ Kuroro realized. _Why wasn't she being affected by the poison?_

Kuroro immediately took a step back, examining the girl again. The micropyles on her body had already been opened, and her nen was warm and gentle. A Specialist? Was her power even nen related?

"You took my life energy?"

She looked away angrily. "I can give it back if you want."

Kuroro nearly chuckled as her cheekiness. "Why?" He asked again.

"Why do you murder people?" She shot back.

He could have easily said for the money, but truthfully, that wasn't his motivation.

"Because," she answered first after a moment's worth of thought, calming her bristling, "It's the only thing I'm good at. And if someone could have been saved if I had done something within my power," she shrugged, "I guess I'd have trouble living with myself the next morning."

Kuroro looked at her curiously. Fifteen? Sixteen? She couldn't have been much younger than him.

"I owe you one." He looked at his arm again. He was slowly beginning to feel some strength return to it.

"Play chess with me then."

The girl in front of him froze, looking confused with herself, and her hands shot to her mouth. She looked mortified.

Was that really all she wanted? He tilted his head slightly. "Every day at 10 o'clock sharp, was it?"

She only nodded, color flooding her cheeks.

"I'll be here tomorrow then." He shrugged.

Turning around, he picked up the body beside him. "Thank you." He said quietly, and deftly began his flight again.

* * *

"_This world isn't as bad as you think."  
-Celty Sturluson (Durarara!)_

* * *

He destroyed her in the first match. Aika should have known that those cold and calculating eyes were good at what they did.

They were cunning and icy, difficult to read, unnerving. She made it a habit never to look into his eyes. She didn't like his, and she didn't like her own.

His moves were always deliberate, confident, and they had a quality that made her second-guess herself. Every once in awhile Aika would sneak a glance his way, but whenever she did, he seemed to notice. Not obviously either, but with subtlety, with a muffled snort or a slight upward turning of the corners of his lips.

He was so charismatic it made her sick, voice flowing and kind, deceiving and conniving. For god's sake, people wrote _novels_ about the charisma he carried with him wherever he went.

Unlike Mike, he hadn't made a habit of scaring her every time he made an appearance. He purposely made his footsteps audible, and Kuroro's tone was soft, almost soothing; not what one would expect from the leader of a pack of ruthless, bloodthirsty thieves. Whenever he came by, he brought something, whether it was a pack of crackers or a new book.

He brought big ones too, ones with yellowed pages and musty aromas of fine and settled dust, like Jane Eyre, War and Peace, Don Quixote, well-known classics that Aika had never heard of.

Let it be known that Aika checkmated him twice in the entirety of the time –or phase- when they played each other in chess. Of course, it paled in comparison to amount of times he did her, but nonetheless, it was a feat not many other people could claim.

Aika grew to enjoy Kuroro Lucifer's company, if for no other reason than the fact that he brought entertainment, a makeshift pillow, and a compacted alternate universe, all simultaneously (those goddamn books though) along with him. He was intelligent, and lo and behold, intelligence was a trait Aika really seemed to enjoy as well; perhaps because she was naturally inquisitive and intelligent too, in spite of the fact that she had received no proper education. Then again, neither had he.

The first time she checkmated him, Kuroro had blinked twice and broken down in laughter. It was completely unprecedented, but won judiciously and completely fairly. She'd flushed with happiness and that was the day she found out that laughter was truly a contagion, especially the kind of laughter that accompanied Kuroro Lucifer because like she said, the kind of charisma that Kuroro Lucifer carried around was story-worthy.

He'd pushed the board out of the way and awkwardly hugged her, pressing her face into him as he laughed.

The first time she met him she would never have taken him for a person who could laugh so easily. Of course, she'd never taken him for the touchy-feely brotherly type either, but life was always full of surprises.

Kuroro is normally the kind of guy that Aika would usually really dislike. He was a perfectionist, someone who did everything he did with an unmistakable passion, a fire.

Aika wonders what it would be like to do something with as much passion as him, and she vaguely realizes that one day, she hopes to be every bit as in love with being alive as he is.

**END**

* * *

"_What makes us the most normal is knowing that we're not normal."__  
__-__Haruki Murakami__,__Norwegian Wood_

* * *

**A/N: Hey, thanks for reading guys. Sorry, the ending was rushed and didn't make any sense; it's 2:13 am and I'm really sorry I haven't updated in awhile I'm just banging things out on my keyboard. **

**Please review, this stuff makes my entire life! **

**Thanks!**


	4. Chapter 4: Liquidation

**Book 1: Simplicitatem**

**Chapter 4: Liquidation**

* * *

"_Failing is no excuse for giving up."  
-Naruto Uzumaki (Naruto)_

* * *

The day afterwards, Aika is flipping through the pages in her book and waiting upon the Leader of the Phantom Troupe to make his appearance; she knows the book is interesting, can tell by the way the pages are set and the spine is bound, but her nerves are wound up too tight for her to tunnel her focus on the tiny words.

"You'll ruin your eyesight that way," comes the same disgustingly smooth voice from yesterday, and surprisingly, it does not scare the living daylights out of the fifteen-year-old.

She shrugs, closes the book, and lifts her head to meet her guest.

He looks the same as the day before, save for his attire, which has been swapped in favor of a loose-fitting t-shirt and darkly-colored pants. It's so casual that Aika feels the irresistible need to look away.

The chess board has already been set, and Kuroro volunteers, saying that he'll take white, but Aika frowns.

"He played with the white pieces last time." She comments.

Kuroro almost says that he's not Mike, almost, but decides against it and simply nods as he sits down one leg in front of him, the other propped up to his side so his arm can rest on it.

He wonders if this is the teenager's definition of hospitality, letting him go first, but he doesn't really need it because he'll crush her regardless.

"Check," Kuroro says after an entire eight minutes have passed, and for once Aika knows that there is no way to delay the inevitable.

She deliberately moves her king into an open area.

"You realize that's an illegal move?" He questions, expression as impassive as ever.

She looks at him, and he realizes that her gaze is almost as chilling as Machi's when she wants it to be. "What's so wrong about knowing that you've lost?" She says with the strangest tone of voice.

Kuroro doesn't need to think very hard to realize she's taunting him by alluding to Mike's death, but he nonetheless ponders this for several seconds, and then moves deftly to reset the chessboard. "Isn't that just the same as giving up?" He questions.

Kuroro Lucifer is not sure why he agreed to playing chess with a fifteen-year-old naïve female but he did, and strangely enough, he is not regretting it as much as he thought he would.

"True wisdom is knowing what you know and don't know." She shrugs, moving to help him. "Sometimes you give up because you just quit. But sometimes you just know that struggling won't help."

"You've read the Confucian Analects?" The Leader isn't sure whether it's comical or shocking that a street rat is lecturing him about knowing his limits.

She looks confused. "Yes..?" She answers, and it's almost a question.

"How did you manage to get a copy?" He inquires.

"I saw an old book in the bookstore around the corner." She shrinks back. "I like antique books so I asked the owner if I could borrow it."

Kuroro crosses his arms. "The bookkeeper over there tends to be awfully crabby." He comments.

"He made me work for a full two weeks before he let me even touch it." She crosses her arms as well.

She's fascinating, he realizes as he watches her make the first move, especially for her age.

"Pawn to C3." She says, and two seconds later she slaps both hands over her mouth as if she's done something terrible and unforgivable.

He doesn't react to her mortification instead he moves his own. "Pawn to D5. " He answers, and all of a sudden he's aware that she's crying.

The Leader of the Geneiryodan definitely knows how to incapacitate a grown man in under a second but he does not know how to handle a crying teenage girl so he does the only thing he can think of and says, "Why are you crying?"

Her shoulders are shaking but she answers the best she can with a broken "I don't actually know," and moves her rook.

That night is the first time Aika manages to check him, -not checkmate, he still takes the match, but the stumble comes as a shock to him nonetheless- and Kuroro isn't sure if he should or shouldn't blame his lack of concentration on the fact that he was shaken by an emotionally unstable girl because that would be admitting a lack of discipline either way.

They play four games that night, and Aika wins one. Kuroro sighs, looking up at the starry sky of Meteor City. Maybe it wasn't such a bad decision.

* * *

"_Life is fair because it's unfair to everybody."  
-Unknkown_

* * *

**TWO YEARS LATER.**

She's seventeen by the time she has discovered her actual powers, seventeen years too old and too exhausted. Their chess matches take longer now and she can read faster. Her long and once-highlighted brunette hair is now a mid-length orange; she had dyed it three months prior when she realized that change was not such a terrible thing after all.

"Check." He says, hand covering his chin as he ruminates, eyes focused and depthless.

Two moves later the same word leaves her mouth and so the pattern continues, six or seven times before Kuroro Lucifer has the unadulterated but somehow unsatisfying joy of saying "checkmate" and Aika throws her hands her hands up in exasperation, the well-known and eternal scowl etched into her features.

Kuroro only smiles and begins to put away the pieces. It is one in the morning, but recently, the Leader has discovered that losing an hour or two of sleep is a small price to pay for the quality of the female's company.

The invincible Leader of the Phantom Troupe is not really sure how the hell he managed to wind up spending the majority of his day frolicking around with an adolescent teenager- a very _angsty_ one at that- but then he reminds himself that it is entirely his own fault for not chopping off his goddamn arm that goddamn day. In a sense, he isn't _entirely_ indebted to her, so he wonders why he's agreed to doing this to begin with.

She's become more definable now, he understands, more predictable, more… patterned.

Her voice is bitingly sarcastic more often than not and smiles are rarely, if ever given. He's finally figured out the color of her goddamn eyes that she has always pointed away, covered with her hair –a shining hazel, for the record- and Aika never seems to undo her expression of concentration, of dissatisfaction.

She has trouble experiencing things, _feeling _things, though he's hardly one to talk because it wasn't as if he wasn't morally compromised, being the head of the lovely Phantom Brigade –which has, by the way, gained an unseemly, but awe-inspiring reputation for being comprised solely of heartless monsters.

"What are you thinking about?" She asks, casting him a suspecting look, arms crossed as she is sitting on the ground. And yes, it is still dusty, and Meteor City is still a rotting junkyard comprised of rotten people.

"My complete and magnificent triumph."

Sarcasm, Kuroro has found, is the best way to deal with Aika. The knots in her demeanor loosen, albeit minutely, and it is easier to get her to converse with him.

The two have gotten to know each other well, though neither will admit to it. Aika silently brooding, admiring the almost-clairvoyance Kuroro has, while Kuroro makes a valiant attempt to unravel the ridiculous enigma of Aika-

"I've never asked you, have I?" He realizes, eyes going wide for a fraction of a moment.

"Asked me what?" She snorts.

"Your last name."

Her laugh is louder this time, more drawn out, and it is infinitely more bitter. "I don't have one." She shrugs.

Kuroro blinks, exhaling and looking to the side. Of course; she was an orphan.

He wonders vaguely if an apology is necessitated, but she answers him before he can reach an answer.

"Don't bother." She yawns, clearing the hair out of her face. "It's like one in the morning, so go to bed."

Kuroro is currently twenty-one and feels incredibly foolish getting lectured by someone four years his junior; she seems to do that a lot. He gets up gracefully, sighing and watching his breath materialize in the cold air enveloping him.

"Good night Aika."

He hears more than sees her eyes rolling, as they always do whenever her calls her by name. Kuroro isn't sure why –yet- but he knows that she detests the name for whatever reason, and intends to figure it out.

She scoffs again, and before she can respond, he's gone.

The winter in Meteor City is hardly a winter; there's never any snow or even frost for that matter, but the temperature does have a tendency to drop, and so, on the coldest of nights, people can see their breaths in the chill air.

The cold front lasts only several days but it's soothing, especially in comparison to the blazing summer days in the town. Slowly, calmly, it lulls Aika to sleep, and within a matter of seconds, she's asleep sitting up, having forgotten to put the chess board away.

* * *

"_True evil is becoming apathetic about other people."  
- Akiyama Shinichi (Liar Game)_

* * *

The world is blurry for approximately six seconds and then it is blaringly clear because Kuroro Lucifer is all of three inches away from her face, bending over with his hands in his pockets.

"Doesn't your back hurt if you sleep sitting up?"

"Fuck you!" is the only response he gets as she falls over to the side, scrambling to distance herself. Her face is flushed red and she had almost kicked over yesterday's haphazardly placed chess board in her scramble to get away. "Why are you even here, dumb Dancho!" She hisses.

He only shrugs and straightens up. "I just thought I should warn you."

"Eh?" She answers stupidly, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

"There are Mafiosos looking for you." He says deadpan, as if that's no big deal at all.

She's tempted to curse at him again but this time's she's scrambling to get to her feet. "Is it about Mike?" Her expression is pained, and she assumes that the only connection she has had with the Mafia has been exposed.

He stares at her, blinks, and quietly says, "I don't know."

As if on cue, a group of four men clad in suits run by the alley, obviously not making too much of an effort to stay inconspicuous.

It's still dark and the sun hasn't woken up yet. Aika backs up into her alley, thinking about what she should do.

"They have guns," he comments, advice thrown in for free. "Be careful."

She stares at him for awhile, and Kuroro can see the question in her eyes. _Are you leaving? _

He turns his own gaze toward the main street where there are several more Mafia men sprinting about.

"I owe you anyways." He murmurs, almost too softly for her to hear.

She finds she can finally breathe again, and she's suddenly too aware of the cold air. "What do I do?" She voices her concern aloud.

"I can get Paku or Feitan to find out why they're looking for you."

The idea of cooperating with the Phantom Troupe, especially the creepy Chinese one, immediately repulses her and Aika is second-guessing staying with Kuroro; but the teen knows that anything she could come up with would pale in comparison to what the Spiders could do.

She looks to her hands and wishes that her power didn't leave room for so many damn openings.

Aika realizes that the man she's dealing with right now is no longer the Kuroro Lucifer she plays chess with but the Leader of the Phantom Troupe. He flips open her phone and dials a number Aika can't see because of the darkness.

"Mm, Paku?" He says, but then he pauses. "What? And the Mafia didn't tell us about this, _why_? And the girl. Okay. Alright." Kuroro runs his hand through his hair and looks toward her again. "Did you know that you're the daughter of two very renowned scientists who dabbled in Mafia affairs?"

Aika thinks it's slightly unfair, bombarding her with all of this information in such a condensed amount of time, especially something about her parents, whom, for the record, she never met. Her back hits the alley wall and she clears her throat, swallowing hard. "No, I did not know that," is all she can really manage at the moment.

She's terrified out of her mind and Kuroro's trying to talk to her about her childhood.

"The Mafia are carrying out a clean-up." He explains.

"What-" Aika begins, but before he can finish her question, an explosion reverberates throughout the air and the screams of the denizens of Meteor City begin to pierce the air. "Wow," is what she ends with. "A cleansing?"

"Virtually." He answers.

_So this is the Geneiryodan_, Aika thinks, and she looks away both in awe and disgust. _How desensitized and traumatized do you have to be to not bat an eye as mass murder?_

"We're meeting up with Pakunoda and the rest of the Troupe." He begins to make his way out the alley. "Can you keep up?"

"I sure as hell can try." She puts on a brave face.

Soon they are speeding through the air, evading burning buildings and debris.

The orphans of Meteor City were well-known and rightly disliked for their enhanced dexterity and agility; if you couldn't steal from street vendors, you starved to death, and the rules were as simple as that. No one would come to save you; everyone was too busy trying to save themselves. Aika finds that keeping up with Kuroro is not as difficult as she anticipated.

A group of five is already waiting at the junkyard when they arrive.

Feitan bristles at the sight of the girl, but is soon placated by a stern look from Kuroro, and he relents with a "tch."

"What I can piece together is that this girl and the clean-up that's going on have something to do with each other." Pakunoda speaks first, crossing her arms.

"Why is the Mafia doing this?" Aika asks, a perpetual frown settling upon her face. Fires had begun to break out over the city and echoes of gunfire were heard as the Mafia mowed down citizens.

"Meteor City is used to do the Mafia's dirty work." Machi is the one who answers nonchalantly. "Every once in awhile, the city needs to be purged, both to keep the element of fear alive and to guard their secrets."

Aika is torn between declaring that their methods are terrible or just terribly inefficient.

"Why are we involving ourselves in this?" Nobunaga asks, yawning, scratching behind his head. "It's not our business if people die."

"No, it's not." Kuroro agrees, expression set in impassion, "but they are after this one," he gestures to Aika with a nod of his head, "and I owe her for something."

"Where's Uvo?" Nobunaga asks.

"Probably sleeping. You know how he is." Franklin answers. "What's our mission, boss?"

Kuroro considers this. The Troupe had a tendency to be awfully think-skulled, so his word choice was important. "Prioritize her safety." He decided. "And eliminate the shooters." The Leader made a valiant attempt to ignore Feitan's murderous aura.

"Paku and Franklin, stay with me." He decides. "The rest of you," he breathes in deeply, closing his eyes. "Disperse."

They are gone faster than the wind, and Aika is left temporarily stunned. She looks toward him and is unsure whether she needs to thank him or apologize first, but he subtly shakes his head side to side, signaling her to stay as she is.

"Dancho," Pakunoda asks, a suspecting gleam in her eye. "I got some intel."

"Let's hear it then."

"Mr. and Mrs. Brehznev, her parents," she nods toward Aika, " were apparently working on a human experiment at the time of their deaths. The test subject disappeared and apparently, is still missing."

Kuroro almost grimaces, almost as he pieces together the missing pieces of the puzzle, but he doesn't because he's in front of his Troupe members. Yes he's inhumane, but his level is sadism doesn't even come close to rivaling his morals, or lack thereof. What kind of parent uses their own child as a subject for experimentation?

Judging from the mortification on Aika's face, he's certain she's pieced the puzzle together as well. "Tsk," she looks down, doing _the goddamn thing with her bangs_.

"If they were carrying out an experiment like that," the gears in Kuroro's mind begin to turn, "they would want the support of a powerful group, right? Isn't that how this stuff works?"

"The Mafia sponsored them." Paku says, deadpan.

Aika is sure that if it wasn't her own life being laid out on a Petri dish for all to see, she would have found the situation comical.

"Something must have happened." Franklin comments.

"Human experimentation is a dangerous realm to dabble in." Kuroro points out. "It never turns out the way it's supposed to."

"So why are they picking up on this seventeen years late?" Aika points out bitterly.

"The Mafia has been preoccupied with more pressing matters as of late."

"_More pressing matters,_ I'm sure." She scoffs.

Pakunoda clears her throat, standing pointedly –_how _Aika isn't sure, but she is- with her arms crossed. "I wasn't finished." When met with silence, she continued. "They're looking for her because she can't get caught in the clean-up."

"Well _why not_?" The orange-head says angrily, half-considering voluntarily throwing herself into a Mafiosos line of fire to get the damn thing over with.

"You're a biological weapon." Pakunoda turns her gaze toward Aika, staring her down. "And the Mafia intends to utilize you the best they can."

"Hmm," Kuroro considers this, raking his gaze over the adolescent in front of him. Her power was certainly one he had never come across before, though it did have its drawbacks. Being able to take the life energy of any living thing did guarantee an almost unlimited supply of stamina after all. "For now, we're going to make noise," he decides. "Let's get rid of them."

Closing her eyes and clenching her teeth, Aika took several deep breaths in and out. "Okay fine," she says with an infinite amount of sass. "Okay."

Three minutes later there are four more figures running along the fire-illuminated streets of Meteor City.

**END**

* * *

"_The life of each human is worth one life, that's it. Nothing more, nothing less."  
- King Bradley_

* * *

**A/N: Well, I'm sorry this chapter took me awhile, I was having trouble putting my plans paper. Thanks for being patient! For some reason, my brain wouldn't let me write in anything but present tense, so tell me if you prefer this style or the previous! I hope you enjoyed! Do drop a review ^.^**


	5. Chapter 5: Our Survival of the Fittest

**Book 1: Simplicitatem**

**Chapter 5: Our Survival of the Fittest**

* * *

"_Time flows constantly; it doesn't care about the people who are struggling."  
- Unknown_

* * *

"Why are you doing this?" Screams erupted from the citizens of Ryuuseigai*, angry and desperate. "There are children here!"

"That's that point," men clad in black suits shouted back heartily, aiming their assault rifles and setting in motion the start of a mass murder spree. "Filthy Ryuusei-gaichu."

It was a common insult and label known to the denizens of Meteor City; "gaichu" was improper Japanese for "pest." *

Three hundred feet away, Aika pointedly kept her gaze averted from the scene unfolding before her. Instead she tried to zero in on the form of Kuroro's speeding figure and attempted to match pace with him.

"Is this your first time seeing bloodshed?" Franklin asked, voice kinder than Aika would have anticipated for a member of the Phantom Brigade.

"Second." She chuckled bitterly. "It's the second time."

Kuroro made no indication of having been provoked. Aika cleared her throat and quieted herself.

"Hey!" A rough voice accompanied the sound of footsteps behind them. "What are you-"

The earth-shattering sound of gunshot so nearby cut the blissfully ignorant Mafioso off as it found it's pathway through the center of his forehead, leaving a bloody and gaping trail in its wake. Pakunoda put away her gun.

Aika almost stated that that scale of ruthlessness was not necessitated, but she wasn't entirely sure of who –or _what_- she was dealing with. Yielding to her nearly nonexistent rational side, she gritted her teeth and continued running.

"There's a lot of them running around."

"Then we just need to get rid of them." Pakunoda said matter-of-factly.

Aika realized the reason for her apprehension was because of the fact that she couldn't categorize these people into a set group. They were endlessly intriguing; not evil, but not model citizens wither.

"Are we going to meet up with the others?" She asked, making sure her voice was kept at a quiet level.

Kuroro shot a glance over his shoulder toward her. "Spiders work alone. And we don't interfere in one another's fight. It's almost doctrine."

"Shouldn't we split up then?" She asked.

Kuroro looked toward Pakunoda and Franklin who nodded once before they moved to spread out and find more poor unfortunate souls to filch.

"Are you sure you want to stick with me?" The Leader asked quietly, beginning to slow his pace. Aika gratefully thanked the gods.

"I don't see any other alternative."

"Our methods are unsightly."

"As the woman just generously demonstrated for me a few minutes ago," she responded pointedly.

Kuroro opened his mouth to reply back but a nearby scene drew his attention. A young girl of perhaps twelve or thirteen was pressed up against the face of building, clutching a book, obviously frightened to death of the Mafioso currently looming over her.

"It won't even hurt little girl-"

Aika didn't even hear the rest of the sentence, body moving of its own accord. Kuroro tsked and rushed in after her.

"NO!" Screamed the adolescent, shutting her eyes and falling to the floor to curl up into a ball.

For someone who had yet to discover the wonderful and slightly disorienting properties of nen, Kuroro figured that Aika moved relatively quickly.

_She has the brunt of her strength in her legs,_ Kuroro realized dimly as he saw her drop-kick the man. His body hit the floor hard and flat and air escaped his lungs with an audible choking sound.

The Leader of the Geneiryodan had fully intended her to rush toward the girl and leave him to incapacitate the man but she viciously kicked the Mafioso in the stomach one more time and proceeded _to sit on him_. Had the situation differed, Kuroro was sure he would have difficultly restraining laughter.

"Get going little girl." Aika said, voice positively dripping with malice. She didn't need to be told twice and the adolescent stumbled over her feet twice in her hurry to scramble away. Kuroro watched Aika curiously.

Her left hand roughly shoved the man's face into the dirt, and a low groan came from the figure beneath her.

"What were you gonna do to that girl huh?" Aika hissed in his ear.

Kuroro narrowed his eyes and observed.

"Can't do what you want if two-thirds of your dick has already been shoved into your personality though, am I right?"

She slammed his face into the ground again and all of a sudden he stopped squirming. A full minute later Aika stood up with a handful of his hair, letting it drop and wisp to the ground.

Yeah Kuroro didn't really understand teenagers, much less women. Wasn't she just scared out of her mind?

"Did you do the thing?" Kuroro stepped beside her.

"Yes I did the thing," Aika replied as she hissed again, bangs covering her eyes. "It's not fair. It should have been painful. It should have hurt."

Kuroro realized with a start that she was referring to taking the man's life.

Interesting events had transpired during the course of the past two years. Aika had found that she was always very acute of Kuroro Lucifer's emotions, which was unsettling to say the least because the goddamn man never felt anything deeply. Perhaps a touch of humor, curiosity, and then blank. She figured it was because she had a part of him running around her body since she had taken part of his own life energy to spare him the pain and blood loss of cutting off a poisoned forearm.

So right know she understood that he was feeling quite bewildered.

She also realized that whenever she saw children, something brittle inside of her broke; it bent and twisted and snapped, splintering cruelly.

"Was he good or bad?" Kuroro inquired.

"I'm not a vampire or something!" She snapped, getting up, gritting her teeth. "I wish I had stopped a few more." She added more quietly. "I wish I could have killed a few more."

"All in good time." A samurai came walking up behind her; Nobunaga. "But for now, we've basically taken care of the job."

Aika's knees just gave out on her, buckled and failed to support her weight. She slowly slid to the ground and closed her eyes, tired and confused. That was so _fast._ How quickly did they work?

The sun was beginning to rise.

Rubicund blood dyed Meteor City Red.

Several moments later, the very last gunshot was heard.

* * *

"_You cannot lose humanity if it is already lost."  
- Ryougi Shiki (The Garden of Sinners)_

* * *

"Aika Brehznev." She tasted the feel of the name on her tongue and cringed. "Ew."

"It's a sophisticated sounding name." Kuroro said, tone consoling. "Your mother was Japanese and your father was Russian. That your first and last name don't fit together perfectly is understandable."

"I don't like it." She said bluntly, frowning. "I'll just be Aika from now on."

Nobunaga laughed heartily, setting his sword down beside him. "Dancho, I like this one." He said good-naturedly.

Aika wasn't too sure what she had been expecting from the Phantom Troupe but it certainly was not this. They were all _people_ –which was definitely a shocker- with feelings and lives and terrible senses of humor.

"It's alright kid. None of us have last names except for the Boss." The samurai pointed out.

She almost asked why it mattered at all that they had anything in common. She disliked half of them anyways.

"Your first kill?" Macchi asked, arms crossed and expression neutral, as always.

"Unfortunately." Aika answered, "though I prefer not to think of it that way. I was just helping a little kid out."

Kuroro subtly cleared his throat but the effect was instantaneous. All the members and even Aika herself brought their attention to him.

"Status?" He asked smoothly.

"I took down eleven." Nobunaga reported. "I think."

Pakunoda brushed her fingers through her hair. "Eight."

"Fourteen." Feitan hissed.

"I don't remember." Franklin answered honestly.

Macchi simply shrugged as well.

"They're either dead, gone, or hiding." Paku started. "Unfortunately, we've garnered the unadulterated animosity of an entire faction in the Mafia. We should expect the worst."

"True." Kuroro nodded.

"Uvo was drunk as hell last night so he's hungover right now." Nobunaga noted.

The Leader frowned. The large man had quite the tolerance for alcohol. Exactly how much had he drunk to be unable to engage in one of his favorite hobbies?

"Kuroro," Aika called out, seeking his attention.

Other Troupe members' eyes narrowed at such a casual approach, but he didn't seem to mind. "Hmm?" He answered.

"Let me join." She crossed her arms. "Let me join the Troupe."

She was met first with dead silence, and then eventually the rising laughter of Nobunaga.

Feitan's aura doubled in size and irritability. "Little girl, don't insult us." He hissed.

"I'm being serious," she insisted, taking a deep breath in and out.

"I thought you detested us." The Leader brought his hands to his mouth as he scrutinized her.

"I do." She answered frankly, a smirk gracing her lips. "But I think I dislike…" she paused, looking for the right words. "I think I dislike being unable to fend for myself more."

"We aren't going to train you."

"The best teacher is experience."

"Again with your bookishness."

"The best teacher is Confucius." She chuckled.

Macchi stood by, stunned with the lack of tension and propriety the Dancho carried as he spoke with this teen. His persona dissipated quickly.

Met with the other bewildered glances of the Brigade, Kuroro cleared his throat again and composed himself. "We're looking to fill our group anyways. You'll be the eighth member."

"Is this temporary?" Macchi blurted out, demeanor shattered.

He blinked at her once, twice, and sighed.

"You don't like me?" Aika asked, asking the question on Kuroro's behalf.

"You just said that you aren't able to fend for yourself." She said accusingly.

"That's why I'm looking to learn." The other female growled.

"We don't have room for-"

"For weaklings?" Aika cut her off, bristling. "I'm not weak; I'm inexperienced. Study a bit more why don't you, instead of severing heads and whatnot."

"Oi, oi," Franklin butted in, separating the felines. "No fighting between members."

Macchi glared at him. _Traitor_.

"When we have a dispute-"

"We flip a coin." She growled. "Heads," Macchi hissed, diverting her gaze.

Franklin flicked a zenny and caught it in his hand, placing it on the back of his hand.

"Tails." Aika shrugged.

Slowly removing his massive hand, Franklin declared "tails," before putting the coin away.

"And that's that," Pakunoda finished. "But Macchi's right you know. We won't baby you."

"I won't ask you to." Aika crossed her arms, huffing.

"Well, you're all dismissed." Kuroro sighed, tired.

After the other five had gone, Aika stood with her back to him, debating.

"Does this mean that the chess-" She started.

"Ten o' clock tonight." Kuroro cut her off. "You're dismissed as well."

Smiling, Aika made her way out of the junkyard.

Didn't look back.

* * *

"_Because if the king falls, this game is over."  
- Sebastian Michaelis (Kuroshitsuji)_

* * *

"Can I ask you something?"

Kuroro had taken all of three steps into the alleyway to arrive for their nightly game of chess before the girl threw a question at him.

"I'm not sure about you but where I come from a 'hello how are you' is customary before jumping to idle chatter." He sighed, hands in his pockets; as usual.

"Hello, I'm great." Aika scoffed. "Can I ask you a question?"

Kuroro crossed his arms. "You just did."

The orange-haired teen bit back a 'fuck you' and glared at him.

Sighing, Kuroro sat down in front of her, undoing his crossed arms and motioning for her to ask whatever was so important.

Given his undivided attention, Aika realized she had no idea how to phrase the question; it was awkward and undesirable to remember. Swallowing once, she cast a sideways glance at him before asking: "Can you tell me more about Mike?"

Kuroro blinked, as he so often did, before processing the question. "Why?"

Groaning, Aika readjusted her posture to a more comfortable position and pulled herself up to the chess board. "I figured you'd ask why." She paused for a moment. "I guess, if I want to get stronger, I should try to strengthen myself in everything, not just raw power. Including mentality I suppose." The girl scratched the back of her head. "What the heck, it sounded so much better in my head."

Kuroro laughed once and quickly proceeded to cover it up with a clearing of his throat. He had recently become aware of how being around the girl influenced his persona, or perhaps, lack thereof.

"I understand what you mean, I think." He also pulled himself up to the board. "Okay, I'll tell you everything I know." He moved his pawn. "Pawn to C6."

"I'm listening. Pawn to D6."

Aika soon found that Mike was not all that great of a guy.

"Mike Alabaster was one of sixteen caporegimes in the Mafia Family. He had fifty men under his control and was personally responsible for twenty-six murders; and those are only the ones the police could find evidence for."

She also found that Kuroro's capability to constantly improve was limitless, especially in their little game of chess.

"He had a wife whom he treasured very much, or that's how the story goes, and his own faction often made fun of him; endearingly of course." Kuroro rolled his eyes, a rare sight. "He trusted her more than his own faction members-" He suddenly cut himself off. "I forgot to mention, she was also in the Mafia as another caporegime."

Aika did a double-take.

Kuroro looked at her curiously. "Was it that shocking? I seem to remember having told you this at our first meeting."

"I- I just," she spluttered. "I just wasn't expecting her to have, I mean, I just forgot,." She composed herself. "Continue?" She asked, moving her rook, taking a knight.

"He trusted his wife deeply, and for good reason too. They were both mid-twentyish at the height of their Mafia careers and so the two were very close, especially since they could sympathize with the work the other was doing." He sighed. "One day two other caporegimes decided to raid another family's headquarters. Along with them and their underdogs, roughly 120 men were dispatched."

Aika narrowed her eyes as her own knight was taken.

"One caporegime escaped. The only twenty-two live remaining Mafia men were all imprisoned. Everyone else was killed."

She sighed, biting the inside of her lip. "Must have been some massacre."

"It was." He agreed. "But Mike and his wife were accused with the raid. The police needed someone to blame and since the two main perps were either dead or gone, they chose them, since their statuses were the same."

Kuroro's queen traveled all the way across the board to check her king.

"The Code of Honor states that you remain silent to others' crimes; you don't snitch and you don't rat each other out, even if it means taking their sentence for them. This doctrine of Omerta has made the camaraderie among Mafiosos notorious and envied."

Chuckling, Aika took his queen with her king.

"And Mike's wife broke that code. She sold out the escaped Mafioso and revealed where she knew he would be hiding. He was captured and given two-hundred and sixty years in prison for the deaths of almost one hundred people. In return Mike and his wife were set free. Of course, however, rats were punished by death and nothing less at the time, so Mike was ordered to kill his own wife."

Kuroro's rook which had been lying inconspicuously in wait also traveled across the board to make it checkmate in a record time of seven and a half minutes.

"Fuck!" She hissed. "Go on."

"So he did." He shrugged. "A week later he tried to commit suicide by pouring gas on himself and setting himself on fire but unfortunately he was saved by his neighbors."

"And that explains his face." Aika murmured. "How depressing."

"Three months later the Mafia did the same thing, tried to imprison him for something he didn't do. This particular fiasco wasn't documented in great detail, probably because it contained classified information. This time, Mike himself broke the Code of Silence and proved himself innocent. After garnering the hatred of the Mafia, he broke away along with fifteen or so others who shared his ideals and fled here to Meteor City."

"Ryuuseigai really is a dumping ground for the undesirables…" Aika sighed. "Is that everything?"

"Everything I know." He replied.

"Do you always research your targets so extensively before ruthlessly murdering them?"

He shot her a look. "For the record, most of my kills are painless."

"How would you know?" She shot back.

"Science."

She hmphed.

"But no, I usually don't. This information was all intel that the Mafia voluntarily gave to us to justify the necessity of their deaths. As laden with crime as they are, the Mafia still have moral standards."

Aika began to clean up the chess board. "The Phantom Troupe is a paid mercenary group, is it?" She inquired.

"For now, yes it is." Kuroro answered. "That will probably be changing in the near future."

"Why?"

"We made this group because we are all outcasts of a different breed. Not outcasts in the sense that nobody talks to us –which is true as well, unfortunately- but in the sense that nobody can understand us."

"I'm not sure I follow." She tilted her head to the side.

"Nobunaga has a peculiar sense of humor but there's nothing that his sword can't cut. Pakunoda has the ability to extract information by touch and share intel by gun. Macchi suturing skills are unheard of, so she doubles as a healer –though she charges far too much- and as a long distance fighter. Franklin can shoot bullets from his _hands_. Uvogin is just-"

"So in short you're all fucking weird." Aika shuddered.

"You could think of it that way, yes. But we're probably going to break away from the Mafia and become bandits soon. There are too many limitations to being a mercenary group. None of us like having to kiss up to Mafia men."

Aika put the chess board away. "What's your ability?"

Kuroro thought about this for a moment. "You'll find out eventually"

She huffed again. "Do I call you Dancho or Kuroro?"

"Just Kuroro is fine but around the rest of them, Dancho would be better if you hope to gain their favor." He stood up. The time was nearing two in the morning.

"Why did you let me join?"

"Why so many questions little girl?" He smirked.

"I'm like two years younger than you." She glared at him. "And because I'm curious."

"That's an interesting question. Why did I let you join?" He asked himself softly, eyes bright and searching. "I suppose I think I'm a good judge of character. Though the Troupe doesn't quite match your demeanor, you can benefit it."

"I'm not sure what I was thinking." She admitted quietly.

"Your legs are naturally built from the amount of running you used to do as child. I would take advantage of that." He said thoughtfully, ignoring her. "You are spurred to fight when there's something to protect. That usually does yield a better power output, but it does mean that your usual level of fighting is much lower when there's nothing to guard."

"What the hell are you going on about?"

"It's helpful advice from what I figure out about you. Your loss if you don't take it to heart." He shrugged.

"Can you put it in language I can understand?"

"Unlike us, you can only fight if you have a specific motive that is heavier than your dislike of killing." He crossed his arms. "Better?"

_It's true_, Aika realized.

"And your power is more defensive and not too handy for fighting. Finding something offensive is in your best interests."

Aika understood that there was a reason all these sociopathic murderers were following someone as strange as Kuroro. He was intelligent, ridiculously so; insightful, perceptive, and he knew how to make parts work and churn together. He possessed a frightful type of charisma, and a level-headedness that she envied.

"I know I'm great but staring is rude Mrs. Brehznev."

"Aika!" She snapped back. "My name is Aika!" And then she flushed.

"It means love song." Kuroro said softly.

"It translates to dirge." She answered stubbornly, face red.

"What am I to do with you." He sighed. "We have a meeting in three days time at the junkyard. Just a heads up."

Kuroro Lucifer turned around swiftly and began to make his way out of the alley. In three more hours the sun would wake and the day would begin again.

**END**

* * *

"_Our names are given to us by God. I have betrayed God, and so, I no longer have a name."  
- Scar (Fullmetal Alchemist)_

* * *

**A/N: What do you guys make of my updating speed? I'm try as hard as I can ^.^ So I've been getting a lot of favorites and follows, but please drop some reviews. :/ I'm not really sure what you guys make of my work if you don't! **

**Also, I'm back to past tense. Did you guys like the present tense more, or this more? Like I said, read and review! Thanks for your time! **


	6. Chapter 6: These Clothes Don't Fit Us

**Book 1: Simplicitatem**

**Chapter 6: These Clothes Don't Fit Us**

* * *

"_Reality is relative. In the same way, so is insanity."  
-Me_

* * *

The next three days passed without incident. Kuroro trampled her in chess as he usually did. Meteor City still sucked, sucked even more now that the air was thick with ash and misery. A total of seventy-six deaths had been counted, added to the tremendous number of casualties. Plenty of people were still missing.

"A mission?" Nobunaga asked, crossing his legs.

The Spiders had decided to meet again at their junkyard in order to decide what to do next.

"I thought the Mafia hated us now?"

"The Mafia is rash but they aren't idiotic." Kuroro began to explain. Almost every member present shot Kuroro a doubtful look. "Maybe so, but only slightly." He relented. "They're well aware of the fact that we're necessary to them as an ally."

It was true. The Mafia wouldn't last a week with the Phantom Troupe as its enemy.

"They've given us a mission to see if we can prove our loyalty."

Nobunaga snorted. "Who do these people think they are?"

Kuroro paid him no attention. "It's not very appealing to me," he admitted. "so I'm allowing the group to decide."

"Do we have a time limit?" Pakunoda asked.

"Let's do it!" Uvogin roared.

"Uvo, we should hear him out first." The samurai warned.

"There is no time limit; however, they want our answer within three days." The Leader answered.

"What is it?"

Taking a deep breath, Kuroro answered: "They've asked for the annihilation of the Kuruta Clan."

Aika narrowed her eyes immediately; the word 'annihilation' just gave her bad vibes.

"Kuruta Clan?" She questioned. The teenager ignored the resting gazes of the rest of Troupe on her.

Kuroro inhaled deeply and began to explain. "From the information they've given me, I can deduce that they're skilled in fighting with swords-" Nobunaga whooped loudly, "and that their eyes are incredibly valuable, especially when sold on the Black Market." Macchi nodded once, giving her consent.

"They're a clan that is known to by very peaceable and highly honorable. Family and friends are very important to them."

"I'm in." Uvo grinned.

"Why are their eyes so valuable?" Pakunoda questioned.

"Apparently they change color when enraged or when they feel emotional." Kuroro answered, eyes closed and head down, as if exasperated. "If their eyes are harvested while in their reddened state, the color does not fade and is regarded as one of the world's seven wonders."

Feitan whistled. "Sounds fun."

Aika was fuming. Those people had lives and children and dreams, dreams she didn't want to impede on.

Suddenly, she felt a heavy hand on her shoulder. She started, recognizing Franklin looking at her with a strange look in his eye. "This is the Phantom Troupe, and if you can't stomach it, I suggest you leave as soon as you can."

There was no malice in his tone, only genuine honesty and perhaps a bit of concern.

She sighed. "I'm fine, but thank you. Really." She answered.

"We need one more member's consent to accept the mission." Kuroro prompted.

"I'm for it." Franklin spoke up. "For now, staying under the protection of the Mafia makes us a powerful force."

"Then it's decided. I'll tell them that we're accepting."

"When will we actually be going on the mission?" Aika questioned.

"That can be decided at a later time." The Leader stood up, and nodded once. "The meeting's over."

Everyone began to get up and make their way away from the junkyard at their own leisurely pace.

"Aika." Kuroro spoke up.

"Yes?" She replied immediately.

"Two years ago," she winced, remembering the time, "why weren't you poisoned when you…" he searched for the proper wording as he so often did, "used your power on my arm?"

"Poison has never affected me for as long as I can remember." She shrugged. "I mean, I can tell it doesn't belong in my body; it's uncomfortable but it can't kill me."

"Your pain tolerance must be something." He remarked.

"Nothing out of the ordinary." She looked away, frowning. "Don't compliment me, it doesn't suit you."

"Your pain tolerance sucks." He deadpanned, crossing his arms.

"Don't do that either, it still doesn't suit you."

"Do tell then, what suits me?" He smirked.

"I'm not sure but it's something along the lines of a mightier-than-thou attitude and too much late night reading." She hid her own smile.

He cleared his throat, which Aika noticed he had a tendency to do whenever he did something out of character. "I'll have you working with Feitan and Pakunoda."

She grimaced. Paku she could handle but the Chinese one…

"They're the information processors for right now. Both of them are interrogators, but if you ever get captured, we can trust you not to say anything you shouldn't."

"I just told you that my pain threshold isn't anything spec-" She began to object, but he cut her off.

"I can tell that it is," he sighed, turning away. "You just don't like bragging."

"How?" She demanded.

Kuroro looked up to the sky, the setting sun. "Feitan enjoys doing what he does, and he knows how to make things hurt." He paused, she rolled her eyes. "When he breaks bones, he does it in the most painful way. Sometimes he doesn't even realize he does it particular way, especially when he's fighting. He broke your arm the first time you guys met and you didn't make a sound."

"_Hardly_ anything special." She snorted. "Whatever." Aika hmphed and stood up. "Can we go play our chess match now?"

Kuroro looked confused. "What time is it?"

"The hell if I know." She gave him a look. "Does it really matter?"

He relented.

The two began to walk back toward her alley.

"Kuroro?" She questioned.

"Mm."

"I've always wondered. Where do you live?"

"I'm never short on money so I'm usually at one of the hotels. I like the one down the street from your alley. I keep them in business so they treat me kindly."

"What about the rest of them?"

"I've never found it necessary to dabble in their personal lives."

"I feel like I shouldn't go on this mission Kuroro." The words escaped her mouth in a storm, in a flurry of letters.

He stopped walking, blinking, and stared at her. "Why?"

Se swallowed once, looking confused. "One time, my friend took me to a field." Aika started. "You don't really find them here anymore, but ten years ago, Meteor City wasn't such a bad place." She cast him a look. "I'm sure you remember." She sighed. "Her name was beautiful."

Kuroro detected bitterness in her voice and he realized she was brooding over the meaning of her own.

They began walking again.

"Yukami means 'beautiful wood,' and so, she was obsessed with the vanities of nature. There was one flower field in particular that was so colorful. She showed me one day and we laid down in it, ran around. I sat down to take a break and wound up falling asleep. When I woke up, she was gone, and the entire portion of flowers around me, up to four or five feet away, were all dead, dried up."

"Nobunaga has trouble controlling his temper sometimes." Kuroro answered after a pause. "I'm sure you noticed that he's closer to Uvogin than the rest of us. When he gets angry he's not very good at distinguishing between his friends and his enemies, so he just slashes at everything. Uvo, on the other hand, has a lot of raw muscle. He can stop Nobunaga, so the two have gotten close to each other."

Met with her blank and confused stare, he elaborated. "My point is, you're not the only one who feels that you're not in control of your own actions. Don't think about it too much. All of us can tell when something's wrong with our bodies, even if we don't know what it is. You saw how Feitan pulled away as soon as you touched him."

"You're trying to reassure me by telling me that none of you are easy to kill?"

"That's the extent of my abilities." Kuroro shrugged.

"Well, just so you know, it's not working." She smirked. "But I appreciate the sentiment behind it."

"What sentiment." He almost snorted. Kuroro Lucifer wasn't someone capable of sentiment.

* * *

"_I am so shamed because I should be there, not here, and I have no idea how to start."  
-Unknown_

* * *

They decided to complete the mission at the end of the week. It would take two hours maximum with the entire Troupe, so there was no hurry, not for Kuroro.

It was strange. Aika had pictured them all running, had actually worried about it, but their leisurely pace seemed to undo something inside of her.

"Butterflies?" Franklin had asked, making small talk as the Troupe trudged down the wearied trail.

She nodded once and looked away quickly. Talking about butterflies in front of a group of mass murders was strange if not comical.

"Digest them." Machi had commented coldly.

If the pink-haired woman didn't make her fear for her life, Aika would have had said something crass back.

Kuroro actually walked behind the group, nose buried in a book as he followed along. Aika had long since realized that he was their leader in the sense that he was their binding force. All of these different people could somehow come together and get along through the magic that was Kuroro Lucifer. He was smart and strange but also very good at what he did.

"What are you reading?" She asked, falling into step beside him.

"They aren't being very hospitable to you?" He cut straight to the chase, never lifting his gaze form the text.

Aika rolled her eyes. "Machi's outright hostile. Nobunaga's bearable. The Chinese one wants to gut me and sell my organs on the Black Market, I can tell."

"And Franklin?"

"He pities me." She crossed her arms. "Charles Dickens?" Aika peeked a glance at the worn-out cover. "Never heard of him."

"You have now."

"That's your cue to _explain_."

"I'm _reading_."

"Of _course_ you are, I'm _so_ sorry I fall short in comparison to a stack of papers with ink splattered on them; which, I might add, are older than my grandparents." She shrugged.

"He was a terrible person who purposely elaborated to a sickening extent in order to get more money."

"Charles Dickens?"

"Hn."

"So, in other words, only people like you can understand what he's trying to say."

Kuroro chuckled, shutting the book and putting it away. "Alright, you win."

"Can I borrow it sometime?" She asked, putting a careful amount of distance between them.

"You wouldn't like it. He's too..." He paused. "He's too wordy."

"I can put up with you can't I?"

"I'm not from the 1800's, Aika."

"Boss," Pakunoda called out, bringing their attention back. "Is that the village?"

Kuroro's gaze shifted, snapped back to what it had been before. He looked up and inspected the sight before him.

It was a quaint village with humble shacks and an abundance of bookstores, no bars in sight. The road was dusty, but relatively well-kept, and Aika took in a deep breath.

The air was dry and it was sweltering, but it wasn't so different from Ryuuseigai, so it didn't bother her all that much.

"Yes, that's it."

"Will we be going in incognito first, or are we going all out?"

He seemed to think about it. "There's no need to do any scouting, so we won't be lounging around." He decided.

The group stopped walking and directed their gazes toward Kuroro.

"The Mafia wants their eyes. Don't kill them before their eyes change color. Children below the age of thirteen don't have the ability so you're free to do as you please with them. We'll harvest the eyes after it's done." He snuck a glance at Aika; she was controlling her temper surprisingly well. "Keep unnecessary bloodshed to a minimum. Disperse."

Upon his word, everyone gracefully and swiftly made their way to the center of the village. After a moment of much confusion from the native Kurutas who seemed alarmed to suddenly find such a different type of people in their square, Franklin, much to Aika's surprise, actually began to shoot bullet from his _fingers_, his _detachable_ fingers, what the _heck_. This seemed to signal the start of the massacre and Nobunaga, nimble and quick, had beheaded three corpses by the time the teen had blinked.

Screams erupted.

"There's no time for hesitation on the battlefield." Feitan hissed beside her. "Enjoy yourself and remember not to get killed." After a few short words of advice tossed in for free, he too sped away.

Enjoy herself? How was she supposed to do that?

She wasn't given much respite to answer because a presence immediately made itself known at her right. It was a middle-aged man, aged but experienced, with short blonde hair and steely blue eyes; he was charging at her with what seemed to be a blunted wooden sword.

Aika remembered Kuroro's warning, the purpose of the mission. _Don't kill them before their eyes change color._

But this man was old and well-tempered, and he seemed to understand what their goal was. His lips were set in a thin line as he swung a wooden sword at her.

"What do you intend to do with that?" She asked, and it was a genuine question. The best it could do was bruise her.

"We don't fight to kill." The male answered gruffly. "We have no reason to kill you; only defend ourselves."

_How honorable_, she thought sadly, side-stepping his swing. _But unfortunately, you can't win if you're always defending._

She ruminated as she dodged his attacks. Her power was not good for offensive use, as Kuroro had so intelligently pointed out several days ago. He had told her to make use of her legs because they had been strengthened from running around and such, but her speed had never been something she thought highly of.

The thought of killing the man made her sick.

"Do you have any children at home?" She asked, chest clenching painfully.

Aika had meant it in the most harmless way possible but apparently, the phrase had threatened him and contrary to what she thought about his levelheadedness, sapphire orbs suddenly morphed into a blazing scarlet.

His swings became faster and one grazed her shoulder. She winced as it made contact and quickly put some distance between them.

_So he does. I wonder how old they are_.

"Ottou-sama!" Someone's shrill voice cut through the air.

Her target whipped around, drawn to the sound of the call. "Kurapika, I told you to-"

It was all so _fast_, Aika barely had time to process what was going. Suddenly a loud sound pierced the air and the man in front of her crumpled to the ground.

Her eyes could barely keep up. It seemed Pakunoda had shot the Kuruta through his head and he had fallen without a sound, hitting the ground with a dull thump.

"Father!" The scream came again, louder.

Aika hastily and barely caught a gun that was thrown at her by the woman. "It's easy," Pakunoda stated as she fixed Aika with a look. "Pull the trigger. Finish off the kid." And then she was gone.

Aika wasn't sure if she wanted to thank Pakunoda or not. Now she didn't have an excuse for not killing anyone.

Slowly, she looked at the weapon and made her way over to the child, gun in hand, albeit her _trembling_, left hand.

Aika realized that the concept of time slowing down was definitely a fallacy because in times like these, time seemed to become faster, much faster, so quick that she found it difficult to simply stand on her own two feet.

Even when stealing bread back in Ryuuseigai, the chase had always been disorienting.

"Who are you people?!" The kid shrieked, angry and teary-eyed, hands balled up into fists. "Why are you doing this?!"

"We are the Phantom Troupe," Aika said slowly, testing how it tasted on her tongue –disgusting, you should know- raising the gun to his forehead. "and we're doing this because it's our mission."

He was perhaps twelve or thirteen years of age, still too young to have acquired the Kuruta's eyes.

_Children below the age of thirteen don't have the ability so you're free to do as you please with them._

She remembered his orders, and narrowed her eyes. She supposed that mean she should kill them regardless, without having to wait for their eyes to change color, but _technically_, she was free to do whatever she wanted.

"Kurapika." She said, remembering what his father had called him. "Go hide in one of the huts. Play dead if someone finds you."

The young blonde Kuruta's expression immediately straightened itself out, baffled confusion dominating his young features. Aika looked at his wide, unadulterated blue eyes and burned with envy.

"What is that supposed to mean?" He spat, fists clenching, form tensing.

She didn't blame him.

"Or I could put a bullet in your head right now, whichever you prefer." She forcefully slapped a cruel smirk on her face.

After a pause, he questioned shakily: "Why?"

"We can do whatever we want with children who don't have the Kuruta eyes yet." She answered.. "So no, I'm not going to kill you."

He looked at her angrily, suspiciously, tears still in his eyes. "Who are you?" Kurapika snapped roughly.

"I am the eighth Spider." She answered. "There's no need for you to know my name."

It was so sudden that Aika had to take a few steps back. Tears flowed freely from his eyes again and he shoved her roughly. Seconds later, he immediately started to run toward the huts she had mentioned before.

"You'll regret letting me go!" He shouted, hurriedly wiping away tears on his sleeve.

"Gee, I should make a list." She murmured, looking at the gun in her hands.

She finally began to take in her surroundings once Kurapika had entered the safety of a hut. Multiple fires had started and bodies littered the main road. The gut-wrenching smell of blood burned through the air. There was so much screaming.

So far she had managed to avoid killing anyone, but how long would that last? What would the rest of the Troupe say if they found out she had let a child live free?

Through the chaos, she somehow caught sight of Kuroro snapping someone's neck. They couldn't have been much older than him, but Kuroro finished within seconds, immediately dropping the body after finishing his business with it.

From behind him in his blind spot, a female Kuruta was creeping up, eyes a blazing Scarlet, dagger in hand. Whatever had happened to 'we have no reason to kill you'?

She fully expected him to whip around and incapacitate her but the Leader seemed to be unaware of the threat behind him, closing his eyes and using one hand to squeeze his temples. He was experiencing a headache.

Aika found herself moving without a second thought, legs carrying her fast than she would ever dared to have dreamed.

Her hands shot out and clasped onto the Kuruta's thin throat and it was over before Aika's consciousness returned to her because by then, the female's body was hanging limply and Kuroro had shot her an incredulous look.

"Uhm," he stuttered out, clearing his throat, taking a step away from her. "Thank you."

Aika herself found that she was having some trouble convincing herself to let go of the woman in her hands. Her fingers wouldn't move, her mind wouldn't process.

"I'm sorry," was all Aika could say, eventually prying her fingers open and fighting down the oncoming wave of bile in her throat.

Kuroro himself was both surprised with the girl and incredibly disappointed with himself. A mere headache would have been the death of him; unlike Aika, the other Troupe members would have simply watched, as per his previous orders and their agreements never to interfere in another's fight.

"What for?" He frowned, still experiencing difficulty understanding the alarming rate at which the girl seemed to improve.

"I didn't know what I was doing, it won't happen again." She said too quickly, hands clenched into fists now.

She was showing the telltale signs of guilt and horror, which could easily lead to some sort of mental trauma, which, needless to say, was not going help the Spider grow.

Why exactly was he allowing himself to slip so much around this one little girl with the most insolent attitude he had ever had the misfortune of stumbling upon? She had saved his life not once, but twice, and he found himself unable to maintain his leader-like presence whenever she was within a five-foot radius of him.

The immediate conclusion was reached. _She's dangerous, Kuroro._

Against his better judgment, he pushed the thought to the back of his mind, reminding himself that there was no one within the Troupe that wasn't.

Aika had the strange sensation that she was not in her own body at the moment. Listlessly, she knelt down beside the woman she had just drained and gouged out her eyes, frowning slightly at the warm and sticky sensation of blood that stained her fingertips.

"Here." She coldly offered the bloodied eyes to Kuroro, who took them quickly and put them in an opaque bag. He looked at her, expression disapproving. "Thank you, for getting my back." He said quietly, nonetheless.

She closed her eyes, flinging the thick blood off of her right hand. She vaguely realized that her jaw ached tremendously because she had been clenching it so hard for the past half hour.

"I'm going back first." She said, voice unsteady.

He didn't respond.

Aika didn't care as she stumbled away from the village.

* * *

"_Death no longer terrifies man; the smell of blood is as common as the smell of white plums."  
- Hiko Seijuro (Rurouni Kenshin)_

* * *

"You should probably leave the Troupe."

Aika didn't respond, curled up in a ball in the corner of the alley.

"You're not cut out for dirty work-"

"Shut the fuck up Kuroro." She hissed out through gritted teeth.

Two weeks had elapsed since the massacre of the Kuruta clan. The Mafia and the Phantom Troupe had renewed the conditions of their mutual understanding and were once again on speaking terms. They had received a handsome sum of money that Aika absolutely refused to touch; the mere thought made her sick to her stomach.

Most importantly, the orange-haired girl had not touched the chess board in two weeks.

"You think you're so clever, analyzing all of these aspects around you." She buried her head in between her knees. "I'm not leaving the Troupe."

He stared at her silently, reveling in the spectacle of the shattered remains of a human being. "Why are you forcing yourself to do this?"

"Witless humans need no reason to justify their actions." She retorted.

"You're far from witless Ms. Brehznev."

She hissed again, uncurling herself for the first time in what seemed like days. "My name is Aika." Malice penetrated her tone of voice.

"Isn't that just as bad?" Kuroro answered sardonically. "The precious name your parents gave you?"

"_What_ are you doing here Kuroro?" Her voice was rising.

"It seems to be half past ten and I'm waiting for my daily source of entertainment, as well as to repay my eternal debt to a hormone-dominated, traumatized seventeen year old." He set his jaw.

This seemed to shove some sense into Aika's mind, and her eyes widened dramatically. "What is the point?" She chuckled, defeated, head collapsing into her open, waiting hands. "Honestly."

"Aika." Kuroro sighed in the most frank tone of voice she had ever heard him utter. "You are a member of my Troupe, and if you're crippling us more than facilitating us, I'm dismissing you."

She laughed even harder now, frame shaking. "Yes, Dancho. Of course." Aika smirked. "You're telling me to get over myself, yes?"

"To be frank, that's exactly what I'm saying." He massaged the back of his neck. "You can't be a part of a paid mercenary group if you have qualms with killing."

"I'm well aware." She uncurled herself completely and sat criss-cross. "I'll work on that for you, Dancho."

"I'm being serious."

"Kuroro," she sighed suddenly, a steely look spontaneously creeping into the corners of her eyes. "I want you to train me."

He crossed his arms, entirely baffled by this strange enigma of a girl he could never fully unravel. One minute she was brooding over the fact that she stained her hands with blood, the next displaying determination to do it better next time.

Kuroro almost retorted that he was under no obligation to but then swiftly proceeded to mentally bury his face in his hands. Aika had killed the Kuruta woman who would have mortally wounded, if not ended him two weeks ago.

Clearing his throat, he deliberated over the implications. "What kind of-"

"Everything." She frowned. "Everything you know. Make me one of you guys."

He frowned, fully having expected this vague response. "You'll hate me as an instructor."

"I would have come to hate you regardless." She shrugged. Shooting him a look, she tried to console him: "I meant it highest degree of sincerity, don't take it personally."

"Well," he shifted, correcting his posture. "why don't we start right away."

**END**

* * *

"_Conversation is mere abandon."  
-Nat Wolff_

* * *

**A/N: Heyo! So this chapter was rushed, and it kind of sucks. I'm sorry I haven't updated in awhile, I'm at an SAT camp as of now. ;_; Please bear with me. I'll try to write as much as possible soon!**


	7. Chapter 7: The Tough Get Going

**Book 1: Simplicitatem**

**Chapter 7: The Tough Get Going**

* * *

"_Practice does not make perfect. Practice makes permanent."  
- Larry Gelwix_

* * *

Aika realizes that when compared to the average twenty-one year old, her chess companion and cold-blooded leader is extremely well-built. Of course she only understands this after he takes of his black blazer, leaving him in a white dress shirt, his tie loosely done.

Why on earth did he always dress so nicely anyways?

Much to her surprise, Kuroro does not do something cliché, like piss her off with cryptic directions or tell her to come at him; he motions for her to sit down of all things, and he does the same, sitting criss-crossed.

They are in the junkyard, and it is around sunset. The days seem to be flying by so much more quickly now-a-days.

Frowning, Aika relents, sitting on the dusty ground.

"What's this all about?"

"It's a lecture." He admits bluntly, cutting straight to the chase. "A lecture before we get to the training you asked about."

"Of course." She huffs.

"Will you listen?"

"I always listen to you Kuroro." She smirks.

He also crosses his arms. "I have no idea where to start with you, to be frank, or how hard you'd be willing to train." Kuroro admits. "But I suppose starting with basics is the best." He looks at her. "You need to build your core. Your legs are powerful and aid your speed well. But your upper body can use a bit of work."

She nods once, understanding his train of thought.

"Push-ups." He shrugs. "Crunches, whatever, anything that works for you." He shoots her a look. "Don't cheat yourself. Make it intense. Start with three reps of twenty for each exercise and increase the number by five every day."

She rolls her eyes as the idea of doing tedious muscle-building, but admits that it is indeed basic.

"There no way to learn how to fight unless you gain fighting experience." Kuroro scratches the back of his head, something Aika can instinctively tell is extremely out of character. "So we'll be sparring every other day, I suppose. I don't utilize weapons so ask Feitan or Nobunaga if you're interested, Paku for guns…" He trails off. "Don't irk Macchi."

Involuntarily, she chuckles.

"And that's honestly the extent of my knowledge that I can give you." He sighs, the slightest frown gracing his features.

With a start, Aika realizes that what he's saying is absolutely true. Exactly how much had she expected to learn from him? As far as she could tell, Kuroro had no visible specialty; he fought using his hands and his inherently quick reflexes. Given that much, it wasn't as if he was going to teach her reflexes; that was something gained solely through experience.

"Are you disappointed?" He questions.

"No, not at all." She lies, shrugging. "I'm grateful that you're doing this much for me."

"I suppose if you really wanted, you could build your stamina."

"Or I could just sap energy whenever I get tired, you know." She shrugs.

"I thought you had an aversion to the method?"

"I was referring to vegetation, Kuroro."

The two laugh for what feels like hours.

* * *

"_What comes easy doesn't last; what lasts doesn't come easy."  
-Unknown_

* * *

**TWO MONTHS LATER**

She cut her hair again, insisting that it got in the way of her range of motion; now it just barely frames her slender face, high cheekbones and all, and it's still orange.

Kuroro is again left stupefied by the extent of her progress. He knew her mental capability knew no bounds, but her physical progress expanded rapidly in comparison. It was unnatural and unnerving, because it had taken him three years to finally categorize fighting in his comfort zone, whereas it seemed to take three months for her.

He doesn't say it out loud –oh, god forbid; it's still a sore spot for her- but he attributes the precocious growth to her parents' meddling around with her DNA. Within the girl he sees an endless potential for growth and an unrivalled stubbornness he's never before witnessed. She's slow to tire, quick to recover, and hell-bent on anything she sets her mind to.

_Oh god Kuroro what the hell are you saying._

At first, their sessions are listless and long, just as their chess games were in the beginning. There was no fun in perfection for him, not for Kuroro; coming back after a few slips up was much more entertaining, gave him a sense of purpose, and enthralled him beyond compare.

She was feeble ere the long hours of muscle building she put in. For some reason however, the girl didn't like it when he watched her, and so she made a point of doing the activities during the daylight hours where their paths didn't cross.

Three or four missions later, Aika was benefitting handsomely in monetary affairs as well and had finally moved into a modest apartment –modest was an understatement, it was more minimalist than anything else- close in proximity to his. It was here that she practiced her drills.

They had a set time schedule: seven, they sparred, ten they played chess, and twelve, they retired for the night.

Perhaps their sparring matches were the sole reason for his existence as of now, because the leader found himself looking forward to them every other day. More often than not it was simply an endless barrage of twisting and attacking, bruises and cuts, but some days, when Aika was feeling particularly adventurous and daring, she would experiment with different kinds of combinations, kicking and punching, jumping and spinning. It was at these times that Kuroro couldn't help the grin that spread itself comfortably on his face, these times when his arms and chest were battered and sore that laughter found its way out of the captivity of his throat.

Kuroro realized somewhere along the way that all Aika had really needed were a few nudges in the right direction; a bit of coaxing, supply her with something she could enjoy, and the girl would thrive. When they talked, she was cold and caustic, pessimistic, but when they fought, Kuroro found himself staring for far longer than necessary at the smoldering in her melting hazelnut eyes. A strange but very right smile would make itself comfortable on her lips, and the knots in her body released.

She fought with a style he had never seen before. Truth be told, he had not seen all that many styles but it was unconventional enough that he could tell it was not one many people would have liked to use.

She stayed stiff, straight, and had a default stance she would always return to. Her right foot was her pivot foot when she wasn't using it to kick people and her hands stayed by her hips, open-handed.

Like Machi, Kuroro discovers that the girl has the aura of a transmuter, but is still unable to fully utilize that to her benefit. Somewhere deep in the recesses of his mind, he was happy for her, since the inherent power that her parents blessed her with left many openings and vulnerabilities; transmutation usually indicated that a nen user would have a long-distance hatsu ability.

He decides that he wants to help her awaken her nen, but isn't quite sure how he should go about it.

"Do you know what nen is?" He asks suddenly one day, as soon as they've finished sparring.

He finds his answer in the blank and confused stare that she gives him, eyes inquisitive but still naïve.

"Oh man," he sighs, mentally bracing himself to begin to talk her though the tedious and meticulous inner workings of nen, barely keeping himself from rolling his eyes. "Here," he says, standing up to stretch his sore muscles. "Follow me."

She's still slightly puzzled, eyebrows knitted together in bemusement, but she stands up and follows nonetheless, falling into step behind him.

"You've heard of the Hunters, yes?" He questions.

It's a strange question. Everyone who is anyone has heard of the Hunters, the powerful and fantastic people who seek out outrageous situations as hobbies or for simple amusement. "Of course," she scoffs, barely keeping the condescension in her tone covered.

"Hunters utilize a special skill, known as nen." His walking is even, calm, and paced. It has a subconscious therapeutic effect, and Aika finds herself unusually okay with the fact that she has no idea where he is leading her. "Nen is known as the skill of consciously manipulating one's life force, or aura."

That jolts her a bit, and she frowns at him, still keeping pace. "Doesn't that sound like kind of a stretch? It's like some kind of super power."

Kuroro doesn't miss a beat: "Isn't your power kind of a stretch too? You steal life force."

Her frown deepens. Though the comments stings a bit, he has a point. "Doesn't that mean I can already use this nen then?" She retorts.

He nearly scoffs. "You've barely scratched the surface of your aura. Hunters can do multiple things with their aura: defend, attack, and even erase their presence."

"Why am I being compared to a Hunter?" Her irritation is starting to peak.

"I say this in with the utmost degree of humility, but I alone am stronger than perhaps 98 percent of the Hunter population." The Leader shrugs, putting his hands in his pockets. "To even think about the possibility of competing outside of Meteor City, you need to at least be at the level of your ordinary Hunter."

"Easier said than done." She snorts.

"Actually," he interjects. "You problem of stamina is easily solved with your ability, so that's solved. Your speed is incredible, so it's okay if you're lacking a little in the power department. As far as I can see, the only glaring problem is that of your lack of control over your aura."

"Alright then," Aika grits her teeth. "Help me do something about it won't you?"

He stops walking abruptly, looking up. Aika does the same and is slightly surprised to find that they've arrived at a clear bubbling stream. It's an uncommon sight in the trash city of Ryuuseigai, and she immediately feels like she's defiled some holy ground by being close to it.

"Why haven't I known about this?" Her gaze widens and she takes a few steps back.

"Beats me," he shrugs, a slight smirk playing on his lips; Aika knows he's fibbing, but it doesn't bother her as much as it should. "I'm going to have you do something. Can you humor me for a bit?"

She narrows her eyes, but nods.

A few moments later, Kuroro has returned with clear water cupped in his hands, and he asks her to place a small leaf atop the water's surface.

Indeed, it takes a bit of humoring.

"This process is known as water divination." He explains, eyes focused on the water in front of him. "There are six different types of nen users, and the water is going to tell us which kind you are."

"How?" She asks dubiously, frustrated,

"Focus your energy onto the water."

"What?" Aika crosses her arms, glaring at him now.

"Aika," his tone expresses that he's almost as exasperated as her. "Put your hands over the water and do something to it."

"Do what?"

"What _else_?"

Nearly, hissing, she does as he says and tries to suck the goddamn life from the goddamn water. What the hell did he mean, what else?

Kuroro has fixed the water with a curious look, and motions toward her. "Taste it."

"This is Meteor City water, Kuroro-"

"You saw the stream and how clean it was." He interrupts again, raising his hands. "Taste it."

Aika is fixed with the ambiguous thought of bashing her mentor's head in; deciding against her deepest desire, she dips her finger in the water and brings it to her mouth. She starts. "Is the stream supposed to be filled with sweet water?"

A slow smile spreads itself across his face and he lets the water fall to the ground with a splash as he releases his hands. "As I thought."

"Can you explain your cryptic directions now, Kuroro?" She inhales deeply, sighing.

"I figured you had a transmuter's aura, but I just wanted to make sure." He shrugs.

"Do you think I know what that means?" The orange-haired girl fights the urge to raise her voice.

Another half hour later, Kuroro has successfully pounded the principles and properties of nen into his faithful –and irritable- disciple and she's sitting on the grassy ground with her head in her hand, brain pounding.

"You're a specialist?" She asks, eyes scrunched in concentration. "Man I'd like to see you go all out in a fight."

"Same goes for me." He shrugs.

Aika is slightly confused, but decides not to say anything. "So, what the hell do I do with all of this new information?"

"Well, that's where I come in."

The girl uses her hands to press in on the temples on either side so quell the headache she can feel starting to rear its ugly head. She doesn't like the idea of physically manifesting and manipulating something as prominent as her own life force, or aura, and finds the leap difficult to take.

"What's wrong?" Kuroro inquires.

It's a simple question, she knows, but that very question sends powerful chills down the back of her spine and she takes a step back, away from him.

The query is an intimate one, and Aika hasn't like the idea of closeness and intimacy since she met Mike and he was ripped away from her.

"Nothing." She nearly hisses back, swatting at the air in an attempt to actually wave it away. "I'm fine. Go on."

He stares at her for a moment longer, his gaze deep and piercing, eyes dubious. Nonetheless, he proceeds after a deep sigh. "Transmuation is the ability to manifest your aura in any shape or form you wish. Machi's aura takes the form of sharp, almost invisible wires."

Aika rolls her eyes, overlooking the glaringly obvious facts.

"For transmuters, the manifestation of their aura tends to mirror their demeanors." He steals and glace at her. "Machi, as we all know, is bitingly curt and rather cold; wires are a perfect fit for her. You on the other hand, are naïve and moralistic." He crosses his arms, face scrunched in concentration.

"What?" The girl flushes deeply, unable to look him in the eye.

"When I think of you, I think of fire." He finally says after a long several seconds. "And to you, I'm sure that's not much, but it's a place to start."

"Fire?" Aika repeats, bemused.

"You're easy to anger, and unpredictable." He says this with his gaze still on her and she begins to fidget. "Passionate about what you do, and raging once you're started."

"Again, what am I supposed to do with this?" She huffs.

"Aika," he smirks. "How does the idea of shooting fire from your hands sound?"

**TO BE CONTINUED**

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"_Man fears the darkness, so he scrapes away at the edges of it with fire."  
- Ayanami Rei (Neon Genesis Evangelion)_

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**A/N: OH MY. I'M SO SORRY I HAVEN'T UPDATED IN SO LONG. School's started for me, so getting time to write will probably difficult. I'm sorry! DX This chapter was also kind of boring, I apologize. It was short and tedious, but it was very necessary, so please humor me. It will really pick up soon! Please please review, it makes me so happy when you guys drop comments! :D See you next time!**


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